


Coming of the Ice King

by JulieArchery107



Category: Game of Thrones (Video Game 2014), Sherlock (BBC)
Genre: Adventure, Mycroft has to save the world from a bunch of short-sighted idiots, Mycroft is an assassin, Mycroft is too smart for his own good, Uniting everyone under one banner, What else is new?, will add more tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 20:51:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15826701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulieArchery107/pseuds/JulieArchery107
Summary: The world of Westeros is divided and unprepared for the attack from behind the Wall, its occupants focused more on getting their hands on the Iron Throne than uniting against the common undead threat. Winter is coming...and the Seven Gods of Westeros decided that only one man can save their people from certain extinction. The Hidden ruler of Britain, the Ice Man.





	1. Chapter 1

"Coming of the Ice King."

Chapter 1

"The one who can unite them."

The Seven Gods of Westeros were shaking their heads at the chaos playing out on their land and among their followers. Once again the world is heading towards an open war for the legendary Iron Throne…will the humans ever learn?

On one side there was the rightful owner of the blasted chair, Deanerys Targaryen, along with her army of unsullied men and three dragons, slowly getting ready to challenge the current owner of the throne first chance they get.

While on the other there was the merciless queen, Cersei Lannister, that's not above using everything and everyone around her in order for her family to stay in possession of the crown.

The situation isn't helped by the rising of Wildlings over the Wall. The battle for the Iron Throne will distract the humans from the real danger and ultimately cause their downfall.

The clashing of those two houses will end in a bloodbath, especially with Deanerys's dragons, leaving the victor, whoever it might be, weakened and unable to handle the swarm of the undead coming from beyond the Wall.

It's a pity the humans don't realize this is a 'no win' situation, for everyone will be dead before the victor can even rule long enough to enjoy his power.

That is…unless they intervene.

"This can't continue like this, Father." The Goddess known as Mother whispered fearfully, her face filled with concern for the people under her protection. "They are putting far too much faith in the Wall and its ability to keep the undead from entering the mainland, to even think about the terrible alternative."

"As long they keep their little minds set on gaining the Iron Throne, they won't be ready for the upcoming winter and its undead followers." Warrior stated crossing his arms on his armored chest. "By the time they hear their wake-up call…they'll be as good as dead."

Father sighted and rubbed his temples, the ignorant humans were causing him another headache with their short-sightedness and the lack of being able to see the bigger picture.

At times like these he missed Eddard Stark, the only human who seemed to know where the real danger will come from.

Too bad that knowledge was taken to the grave along with him, despite his attempts to warn the rest of his race. The ignorant little pest Geoffrey had the nerve to behead the fair king of the North, an action that did not please the lord of Gods and was severely punished for.

He shook his head at the thought of the Lord of Winterfell.

Such potential for good…such a noble and caring soul…such a waste.

Shame he is now resting in Stranger's domain, otherwise he would undoubtedly be the perfect solution to all their present problems.

"Not if we…help them a bit." Crone, who remained silent up to this point, spoke up, bringing Father out of this musings.

"And how do you suggest we do that?" Smith, another god who preferred listening to the conversation rather than speaking up with his own opinion on the subject. "We can't stop the winter from coming, Sister." He said, annihilating the option before it could even be proposed. "It has been long since foretold. Preventing it from occurring would bring disastrous consequences, ones I would rather not think about."

"That has never been a possible option for me, Brother." Crone answered calmly, dismissing his earlier doubts. "What I propose is an idea so old and infallible, it might be just what we need to save our people."

"And what would that be, dear daughter?" Mother asked watching her curiously, at this point they were ready to welcome any solution that had even a minimal chance of success.

Crone smiled before telling her family her idea.

"A 'Chosen One' sent by us to lead the people against a threat far too great for one army to defeat."

The rest of the gathered gods mused on the idea, finding it both idiotically simple and yet widely renowned for its effectiveness in the God community. Whenever a godlike entity had a problem with his subordinates, they'd simply send someone 'destined for greatness' to clean up their mess. It never failed.

Normally the 'Chosen One' would be sent as a baby to grow up among the people he/she was supposed to save, but in this situation there was no time for the basic procedures. By the time the hero would grow up the undead would already swarm the mainland, rendering his purpose totally useless.

Westeros needed a leader and it needed him/her now!

"Very well then, Crone." Father spoke ending the thoughtful silence. "Say we agree to your plan, who would you suggest to put in that role?" He saddened. "All the honorable houses…the Starks, the Foresters…are either dead, taken into slavery or scattered around Westeros, alone and terrified." The knowledgeable king of Gods shook his gray head. "There is nobody qualified, dear Daughter. The era of heroes died out along with them."

The solution would have been dismissed if it wasn't for Crone's answer.

"I never suggested we had to take someone from Westeros." The young goddess smiled. "There are other worlds out there, filled with people that are more than good enough to be one we seek." Immediately, on her godly command, miniature versions of planets from different universes appeared before the Seven Gods. "All we have to do, is take the one we want."

"How do we proceed with the selection?" Mother asked eyeing a world not to different from their own. Instead of fighting an oncoming swarm of undead, they went against an all seeing eye and its army of truly terrifying monstrosities. The caring entity's soft heart went out to the poor younglings suffering through hardships and pain to save their world, along with an elf, two humans, an old wizard and a dwarf.

She shook her head and a lone motherly tear slid down her porcelain skin.

If she knew anything about life, they are going to lose.

Even with the help of their local gods, five adults and four little ones can only do so much against a seemingly endless army of monsters.

She can only hope they will at least be remembered for their heroic attempt.

"We list the characteristics of the person we need." Her daughter explained. "Once that's done the image of the chosen one will appear before us."

Nodding the rest of the gods though hard of who they want the person saving their people, to be.

"He needs to be smart and charismatic, to both be able to outsmart his enemies and pull people to him." Smith stated, earning a raised eyebrow from Maiden.

"He?" She asked, her cold voice showing her displeasure with her sex being depicted as weaker by her brother.

Smith just snorted at her quiet outburst.

"Men are more respected in the world of Westeros, always have been. It's better to be on the safe side and not place the faith of an entire race in the hands of a woman, who we aren't sure people will follow." He stated, shrugging.

"Deanerys seems to gather a lot of followers throughout the years." Maiden shot back, shooting him an angry glare.

"The young Targaryen princes has dragons and family claim on the throne." Smith reasoned, calmly. "The chosen lady wouldn't have those attributes to help her get followers."

With the argument silenced by that sentence, the gods returned to searching for their savior.

"He would need to be knowledgeable in combat, to be able to lead his troops into battle and fight his enemies alongside them." Father added. "It wouldn't be good to give them a leader that can do nothing but sit on a throne."

"In order to be fair and a good king, he'd need a heart of ice." Stranger, the personification of death, stated. "In times like theses a man needs to make the hard choices in order to remain in control, we can't have someone lead by feelings pulling the strings." His long coat flipped in the nonexistent wind. "I've seen many kind kings get killed by following their hearts. No…" He shook his head. "Kindness is a weakness…a disadvantage. Our chosen one should not suffer from it."

Mother shook her head at the statement but said nothing, showing that, despite not liking it, she agrees.

"He also needs to know how to lead a country, without rebellions rising against him." Warrior added wisely. "Once he sits upon the Iron Throne, he will be in charge of all of Westeros. Therefore it would be wise to appoint to choose someone who would be knowledgeable in the arts of ruling the world."

After a minute of silence, Crone finally spoken.

"Father, Moher, Brothers, Sisters." She addressed with a smile, holding up an orb with the image of a human shown on its surface. The man in the picture was in his late thirties to early forties, his eyes were icy-blue and looked to be as cold as the upcoming winter, his hair was auburn and brushed neatly not a hair out of place.

The name below the image declaring his identity for all to see.

Mycroft Holmes.

"I believe we found our Chosen One."


	2. Chapter 2

"Coming of the Ice King."

Chapter 2

"Mission objective."

Usually when Mycroft Holmes falls asleep he either dreams about events that have already happened, like childhood memories or particularly stressful days in the office, or goes through his resting hours reviewing government projects and Secret Service missions. Since his mind is so focused on the realistic part of life that it doesn't have time nor the creativity to waste on making dreams, that fact is really not surprising.

So you can imagine his sight confusion when, instead of seeing a replay of one of his most cherished memories, he was faced with a dark room filled with medieval-style dressed people looking at him as if he was some kind of prized dog shown off on a competition.

Rising an eyebrow he tried to remember if he saw those men and women before, like in a musical or an opera play, but surprisingly couldn't recall ever coming across any of them.

Suddenly the one looking not unlike a medieval style smithy, snorted.

"That round man in the wired armor is supposed to be the selected 'Chosen One'?" He asked sounding doubtful and disbelieving. "Don't make me laugh that guy looks as if he hasn't saw a real weapon in his entire life! Let alone led men to battle during war time!" The man sent Mycroft a nearly disgusted glare. "He wouldn't stand a chance in the world of Westeros. Everybody there would eat his soul for breakfast."

Ah. And with the help of that sentence alone, Mycroft understood.

These were the manifestations of his supposed insecurities, as the mention of his weight proved a moment ago, that he was supposed to face during tonight's slumber so they won't bother him anymore during the day time.

In other words, he was experiencing a nightmare.

That explanation seems logical to him as he could recall reading that some scientists discovered, after years of testing that the human mind often decides to make its owner face his fears during slumber, so their power over him will cease. A very useful ability, he remembered concluding back then, the human mind truly was Mother Nature's greatest achievement.

Or it would be logical if not for the fact that he didn't possess such an ability, he wasn't allowed to.

In his line of work Mycroft has to be in perfect control of his body and mind, had to rid himself of everything that made him human the moment he stepped into his office for the first time. Otherwise the things he was forced to do in order to protect his beloved country would drive him into insanity.

Somebody had to make the hard choices…somebody had to be the monster that everybody hated but was also the only one able to keep the world from crumbling into pieces…

What needed to be done, had to be done.

So he turned his body into a well-oiled machine. One that doesn't feel guilt…doesn't have regrets…doesn't have dreams and hopes…just thinks.

Behind the closed doors of his office the caring older brother of one detective Sherlock Holmes turns into a walking block of ice, the thing Moriarty dubbed the Ice Man.

Everything a human would normally do in response to a certain situation, from rising an eyebrow when curious to changing their voice to better fit the emotions they are experiencing at the specific moment, Mycroft had thousands of variations of those simple reactions. Each and every one of them were specifically created to be used against specific kinds of people to ensure their unquestioned obedience.

Nothing he ever did was done on impulse or in heat of the moment, instead his actions were carefully calculated to ensure that they get the results he wanted and nothing else.

That's why he was one of, if not the, most powerful men on Earth, because he wasn't allowed to feel fear and/or have any weaknesses that could be exposed and used against him.

Because he can't have them, he doesn't.

Even in the secured comfort of his own thoughts.

And that's how Mycroft Holmes figured out that his mind was being invaded.

Narrowing his icy-blue eyes to near slits the politician glared at the gathered humanoids before speaking:

"This is not a dream and you are not from my mind."

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Crone watched the cogs in the man's brilliant mind begin to turn the moment her brother stopped grunting out his petty insult, and was slightly surprised he dismissed the possibility of them just being part of a dream so quickly.

"And what evidence do you have to support that statement?" She asked calmly.

The wise goddess knew he would figure it out sooner or later, his essence reeked so much of pure intelligence it would be more surprising if he didn't, but even so the speed in which he discovered their little secret was a little unnerving.

The human turned his calculating gaze to her, silently analyzing every single bit of information he could gather from her appearance alone.

"A dream is usually constructed of images the person experiencing them, at one point or another, saw during their life time." His eyes didn't leave that of the wise goddesses as he continued. "I never saw the likes of any of you, and I believe my mind is not creative enough to think of your designs and personalities, so it's impossible for you to be fragmentations of my imagination." His voice was relentless in proving his point. "Furthermore Mr. Smith, I believe, tried to insult me by preying on my weight problem, an insecurity which was promptly disposed of the minute it started being a problem." It wasn't a lie. Due to his job policy, that little crack in the armor had to go. Mycroft only allowed Sherlock to tease him about resent weight gains because otherwise their verbal interactions would simply cease to exist. "Had he been a part of my subconscious, he would have known taunting me in such a way would have no effect."

He fell silent knowing he needn't say more, he proved his point. Though what exactly he was going to do now that he proved that they are indeed not from his brain, is a question even he doesn't know the answer to right now.

Another problem demanding his attention considered the mere possibility of them even getting inside his head while he was asleep inside the impenetrable fortress he calls home.

There was a lot of people on the globe that would go to ridiculous lengths to get their hands on the confidential information stored in his head, from torture to hypnosis and drug abuse, so he wouldn't be surprised if one of such persons was desperate enough to use the 'Inception' way and try messing with his dreams.

Technology may be progressing at an alarming rate right now but he was quite sure that actually getting inside another person's head is not possible yet, which meant that he could possibly be dealing with something that's not entirely human in nature.

Not knowing their true intentions, as well as what they're after, created a serious gap in his deductions, which in turn prevented him from creating a way to turn this situation to his advantage and left the man behind the British Government practically at their mercy.

While the other deities stared in shock at the man's words, not having encountered a human with this level of intelligence before, Crone smiled clearly happy with his explanation.

Here stood a man who truly had the potential to save the world of Westeros, they have chosen their savior well.

"I assure you, child of Earth that our visit to your subconscious is one of peace." She stated calmly, watching the man for any reactions. "Our main objective in this meeting is to ask for your assistance in a problem that threatens the safety of our world."

The goddess of wisdom watched as the man's mind tried to determine if what she said was true, doubt clearly shining in the ice-blue orbs.

"We are the Gods of a land called Westeros," She continued after it became apparent that he wasn't going to say anything, "I am Crone, those around me are Father, Mother, Maiden, Smith, Warrior and Stranger." She motioned around to each member of her family as she spoke their name. "Our world is divided and at a civil war with itself, while a powerful enemy gathers beyond the protectiveness of the Ice Wall. An enemy to powerful for one clan to fight off alone, therefore you have been chosen to unite the fighting countries of Westeros and defeat the coming winter."

At first it looked like he wasn't going to offer any response but after a few second of silence…he spoke.

"Why would Gods need my help?" The question wasn't a surprising one, even the simplest of minds would be suspicious when someone presenting himself/herself as a divine entity capable of doing anything, came asking for assistance.

"Winter is coming." The cold words came out of Stranger's mouth, turning the man's attention to his cloaked figure. "One that has long been foretold and would have dire consequences if we tried to stop it." He gazed at the man from under his black hood and was pleasantly surprised when the human returned his gaze without backing away. "Who better to withstand the coldness of the fourth season, than a man made of ice?" The god of Death added to answer the 'why him' question.

Silence once again fell in the dark space of their meeting.

And it continued to be quiet…before the man spoke once more.

"Very well." Mycroft said nodding his proud ginger head. "I will do as you request."

"So quick you are to believe us, fleshling?" Father asked, quite bewildered. "How do you know this all is not a rouse?"

"Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth." Mycroft said without wasting a beat. It was a something he once told Sherlock when the insufferable brat was still a novice in the arts of deduction. He was glad to know that his baby brother still uses it during his cases, it gave him hope that maybe, somewhere deep down, Sherlock still cares for him.

Father nodded but, before he could say anything more, Mother spoke up.

"What about your loved ones?" She asked, her face the mask of worry and compassion. "Are you ready to leave them behind knowing you might not comeback? Will they not worry?"

Mycroft looked away. This wasn't a subject he wished to discuss.

He knew the one person he really cared about wouldn't give a damn if he were to live or die.

Sherlock didn't need him anymore.

He had John Watson, Gregory Lestrade, Molly Hopper and Ms. Hudson to keep him safe now.

And he made it clear on more than one occasion that he would like nothing better than for Mycroft to disappear from his life entirely.

The elder Holmes never could quite deny his baby brother anything…

So why not give him what he always wanted?

"Caring is not an advantage." Was the quiet reply, one that was barely louder than a whisper. There was simply nothing else to say, the sentence spoke for itself clearly enough.

Mother's eyes filled with tears but she said nothing, her motherly heart going out to the man before her.

"Very well." Father said, spreading his arms. "As the lord of the Seven Gods, I thank you for heeding our call for help in this dire time. The task before you will not be an easy one but fear not, you won't be in this alone. We have notified an ally of your coming and you are to meet him in the forest beyond the Ice Wall, he will help you with your quest of uniting the divided nations under your rule." He paused to give the man a grateful look before continuing. "We wish you the best of luck, Mycroft Holmes."

The shadow behind the British government only had the chance to nod before light enveloped him and he was no longer there.

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A few hours later, inside a rather large flat in the middle of London, the city's only consulting detective watched the video sent by the British security team with a mixture of confusion and horror on his face, as his older brother vanished from his bed in a bright flash of light.


	3. Chapter 3

"Coming of the Ice King."

Chapter 3

"The journey begins."

Cold.

The first thing he was made aware of, was cold.

There was something cold on his nose…

Something that distinctly felt like snow.

Icy-blue eyes snapped open and Mycroft Holmes shot up into a sitting position, looking around frantically.

What he saw was a great deal of snow. It covered everything in his line of vision: from the trees in the forest he apparently set camp in to the faraway grey forms of mountains, he could see between the tree trunks.

Though knew he wouldn't be in London when he opened his eyes again, he couldn't help but hope he was wrong for once. Naturally, that wasn't the case.

Sighting at the tragic faith of being a genius, he assessed his current location.

He appeared to be lying in a makeshift sleeping bag made out of cow skin, in the middle of what appeared to be a traveler's camp that fitted right in with the ones he saw in books about knights and princesses. To his right he could see a fire set close enough to keep him warm along with a chestnut colored horse tied to a loose branch of a nearby tree, carrying a small traveling pack tied to its saddle.

The campsite wasn't much to look at, and it didn't have to be. Mycroft knew that its sole purpose was to give him a taste of what his quest was going to be like, as well as granting him items he wouldn't survive without in the middle of a snow-covered forest.

It seemed the gods decided to grant him the luxury of being semi-prepared for tracking his way through a land he never heard about, during the most unforgivable of the four seasons when finding food is a near impossible task for even the most experienced wilderness survivalists.

He sighted and began digging himself out from under the warm covers. While he didn't spot any wild animals or hear anything suspicious, the camp is far from a safety location.

The horse being fully dressed in riding gear, allowing him to leave as soon as he awakes, was a signal that shouldn't be ignored.

Once he dragged himself from under the blanket, he realized that his clothes changed just as much as his environment did.

Instead of his beloved three piece suit he was wearing a dark-brown leather armor that reminded him a lot of his Black-Op uniform from when he still did fieldwork for MI6. His feet were now protected by long winter boots of the same color, and his hands and arms sported gloves that seemed thick enough to stop a medium-strength sword swing, if the need ever arose.

Standing up he noticed two medium-sized hunter knives hanging from his belt on each side respectfully, sharpened and ready for usage. Though smaller and with less range than a typical one-handed sword, they were no less deadly when placed in a professional's hands.

And it just so happened that Mycroft's favorite method of dealing with enemies during his MI6 years, was slashing their guts open with his trusted short blades before delivering a fatal backstab.

It appears the Gods of Westeros had done their homework.

Relying on muscle memory alone to execute the move properly, the British Government head pulled both knives from their covers with speed that never even hinted at the years he spent away from practice.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at that.

It seemed old habits really did die hard. Once an assassin, always an assassin.

For a minute he simply admired the beautiful craft of the sneaky blades, weighting them in his hands and twirling them between his fingers with the sunlight reflecting brilliantly from the polished silver.

Though his new weapons were very similar to those of his Ops days, they did have differences that the elder Holmes did not fail to spot.

The hunting knives were longer and more balanced than the short blades he used in his early twenties, as well as of better quality. Since no agent could be found with a potential murder weapon on their persona, it was always better to dispose of it and grab a fresh new one before the next mission began, so it was of no wonder that the blades he used back then were made of scrap metal just hard enough to get the job done.

In contrast the weapons he was gifted with were made for longer usage, the steel stronger and more resistant to damage, it will take more than a few battles to get those out of commission.

Nodding in silent approval Mycroft sheeted the blades and decided to check on the equipment his new animal companion was bearing.

The chestnut stallion welcomed him rather warmly with burying his snot into the ginger man's shoulder and allowing Mycroft's hand to gently pet his long Arabic-style neck. Clearly the horse was a pure blood of some kind, he didn't have to be an expert in horse breeding to know that.

"My, my you are a beautiful beast, aren't you?" The Shadow behind the British Government whispered, his gloved hands smoothing the large animals coat.

The stallion nodded his head as if in agreement.

"I suppose, now that you're mine, I should probably give you a name of sorts." He continued absent-mindly. "I hear that's what ordinary people or, as I like to call them, Goldfish, do upon getting a new animal."

The horse snorted into his shoulder in answer.

He took that as a 'go ahead'.

"Very well then, though I must warn you: I'm not of the imaginative types. Let's see here…how about…Nut?"

The animal shot its head back as if offended.

"I don't understand why you're complaining." Mycroft felt the need to explain himself. "The word 'Nut' is in the name of your coat color after all, but, if you really don't like it, I suppose 'Caramel' will suit you just as well."

The stallion let out a series of unhappy snorts.

"Cease your whining, you ruddy animal." The shadow behind the government scolded pulling on the reins. "The sweet I named you after just happens to be a delicacy from where I come from, one I won't have the chance to indulge in for a very long time and, by the time this quest is halfway done, I am going to need a reminder that such a thing even exists. So be quiet like a good little horsy." He directed the still protesting animal to move further ahead so that he could mount the, newly named, Caramel and begin his journey towards the great Wall, to meet up with the ally the Gods told him about.

That's when he noticed the large wooden shield hanging from the opposite side of the saddle.

With a curious look on his face Mycroft reached over the horse's back, untied the defense tool and, with a bit of effort, was able to pull it over to his side of the saddle.

Upon turning it towards him he was met with a snarling image of a wolf's head, which was colored to look like that of a red fox. It bared its teeth threateningly, from its spot on the middle of the shield, and glared at him with ferocity that rivaled his own 'Ice-Man' glare.

But what really caught his attention was what was presented beneath the fox's head, in small but seen in a close-up, pictured.

Apparently this world was full of dangerous animals trying to take over the Iron Throne.

Wargs, Krakens, Stags, Dragons…All of them big and powerful adversaries.

And yet it was the sly little fox that's going to outsmart them all.

Mycroft liked those odds.

He liked them a lot.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Does this story really need warnings? I mean, it does take place in the world of 'Game of Thrones', after all. Just because Mycroft's there doesn't mean it's going to be any less brutal than what it's normally like. So…uh, warning for sensitive topics and vulgar language.

"Coming of the Ice King."

Chapter 4

"M: Meets the Nightwatch guard.

S: Faces denial."

 

The sun was slowly making its way down towards the mountains as the snow covered woods were penetrated by a man and his four legged companion, with nothing but the sound of their feet crushing the soft power beneath them, reaching their ears.

The rider had to get off his mount a few hours ago when it became apparent the horse wasn't going to carry him any further, much to the man's obvious dismay.

Mycroft didn't know whenever he should be relieved that the area was so silent or disturbed by it, as he looked around for any inhabitants.

He couldn't spot any signs of wildlife activity anywhere. There was no birds singing on the tree branches, no wolves howling to mark their territories, no squirrels jumping from one tree to another…

The forest was quiet…empty…lifeless.

Turning his attention away from the tree crowns and focusing it on the snow covered ground, the elder Holmes brother spotted yet another anomaly in this already bizarre forest. The snow before him was completely smooth as a mirror surface, there was literally no footprints other than those left by his snow boots and Caramel's hooves.

"Dear me…"Mycroft whispered. "This place is completely deserted, nothing but white as far as the eye can see…"

Shaking his head, Sherlock's older brother was about to start moving again…when he was met with an unexpected resistance from the horse's end. Frowning, he pulled Caramel's reins to restore movement but the chestnut colored mount refused to listen.

Finally deciding he had enough of being ignored by an animal, Mycroft turned around to face the source of his problems, only to find his gifted horse staring at a group of people in the far distance, safely concealed by the tree line because of their dark clothing.

A deeper frown appeared on the elder Holmes's face. He should have been able to spot them when he looked around for the first time, Sherlock would have mocked him senseless if he saw him now. Middle age was catching up to him faster than he thought.

Squinting his eyes to see the people better he noticed that some of the figures are a bit blacker than the others and, by the way those shapes were wriggling around, the two groups are in the middle of a heated argument, with the black ones surrounded by the lighter ones.

"Ah…" Mycroft nodded his head in understanding. "A textbook example of a gang up." He then sighted and looked back at the insufferable animal. "You aren't going to move an inch if we don't check out what this is all about, aren't you?"

If Caramel could give him a cheeky grin, he would.

Another sight escaped the British Government's mouth as he ran a hand through his face.

"Very well then." He grumbled and began walking towards the group in question. "Let's see if we can do something about this show of brutality." Icy blue eyes glared at the horse as he whispered. "But if they decide to target us instead, I will not hesitate to sacrifice you."

Caramel let out an angry whine and nipped him in the arm, offended by the idea.

"You brought it upon yourself, Caramel." Mycroft muttered swatting the horse's head away. "You're the one who insisted we approach them."

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#Page break#

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As they came closer Mycroft could see that he was correct on his earlier observations, like always.

There was a group of men clad in rags and worn out boots like peasants from the medieval teamed books he read as a child, surrounding another, albeit smaller group consisting of four men, dressed in black armor and thick cloaks of the same color.

Based on the threatening postures and clenched fists, it was obvious that the lesser dressed men were the aggressors in this situation, as the four soldiers stood rigid and ready to protect themselves but otherwise calm despite being outnumbered by an angry mob.

"You shouldn't have come here, you filthy Crows." One of the peasants growled and began circling the black clad men, allowing the elder Holmes brother to finally see their faces.

"There is no need for violence." The presumed captain of the soldiers said who looked like-Oh God no! Mycroft thought he was going to faint-a clone of Sherlock Holmes, complete with the dark curly hair and puppy dog brown eyes. The only differences being this man also had a beard and mustache. "We only came to buy some food to take back to the Wall."

"Buy?" Another nameless peasant laughed in their face. "Did you hear them boys?! They actually think we'd believe that this bunch of murderers and thieves bought the food they're taking, and didn't simply rob the nearest sanctuary they passed!" He then spat at Not-Sherlock's feet. "I'd rather fuck a donkey than believe a word coming from your mouth."

"Believe what you want, we don't give a rat's ass." The soldier to the right of Not-Sherlock, tall with blond hair and a bulky frame, snarled his hand fingering his sword. "But let us get back to the Wall so we can continue protecting your ungrateful behinds from the Wildlings, while you all sleep soundly in your cozy beds!"

Mycroft groaned.

Things were about to get ugly.

Not-Sherlock only managed a warning hiss of 'Finn!' before the villager pounced right back at him.

"We don't need protection from a bunch of convicted murderers, thieves, deserters and rapists!" The man screamed, getting straight into 'Finn's' face. "We'd rather have the Wildlings run amok than go to sleep knowing that creatures no better than them are tasked with watching our backs!" The two men glared at each other silently before the villager spoke again, voice still seething. "We know what your kind does on those, so called, 'patrols' of yours, you're not fulling anybody. Instead of doing your supposed duty you: Break into people's houses, steal all the food and goods, kill all that try to stop you and, when all this is done, fuck a mother on the very eyes of her children!"

"Funny you should mention that last part." Mycroft, who decided to step in before Finn could get himself and his comrades into any further trouble, spoke earning the attention of both the villagers and the soldiers.

"Who the fuck are you?" The man who was previously yelling at the blond soldier, sneered at the red haired politician.

"Oh nobody important, I assure you." Mycroft answered, smiling that condescending Iceman smile at his verbal sparring partner, who was in the middle of sizing him up. "Just a casual traveler passing by."

"Why don't you mind your own business then?" The unnamed man glared at him, his green eyes gleaming in the sun. Clearly he was the Alpha of this small pound. Just as well, the eldest should always claim leadership.

"Believe me, I would," The Holmes quickly assured him. "But I couldn't help but notice the giant hypocrisy in your last statement."

His opponent blinked dumbly at him, clearly not understanding half of what Mycroft said.

"What?"

The Iceman grinned, already smelling the approaching victory.

"Shouldn't one practice what he preaches?" He asked, enjoying the confused look on the villager's face. "I assume it's rather unfair of hating someone for a given crime…when you are guilty of the same thing." All the pieces were in their place, time for the final check mate. "Especially when you're in the presence of the offspring of the lady you've been sharing your bed with for the past month."

This took the man so of guard he actually stepped back, looking at Mycroft as if he just grew another head.

"H-How did you…" He squeaked out before his brain could catch up to his mouth.

The younger men in the group might not have been any smarter than their leader, but they did understand the words 'offspring', 'lady', 'sharing' and 'bed' quite well.

"Wait so that's what you've been doing this past moth?!" One of the other men, this one looking to be in his mid-twenties, yelled. "You said you were sick!"

"I…I…" The accused male stuttered not really knowing what to say.

"So you're the reason mom and dad stopped living together?!" Another one, clearly an older brother of the other accuser, screamed. "What the fuck, man?! How could you?!"

The villager turned white, seeing that the two brothers are seconds away from pouncing at him, and, out of desperation, pointed a shaky finger at Mycroft.

"You! You have no proof!" He screeched out, voice small and far from the angry yell they heard before.

But the Man behind the British Government simply smiled his superior smile at him.

"Oh I believe your face is proof enough."

After that, the unlucky villager found himself on the receiving end of the brothers' fury while the other men tried to pull them apart.

"Well…that was easy." Mycroft muttered to himself, observing the chaos he managed to cause by simply opening his mouth. He then turned to Not-Sherlock and his crew, who were staring at him as if he just made a rock sing or something equally impossible.

"It seems like we'll have no further problems from these gentlemen." He said as he patted Caramel's snot. "Come along then." He waved them over, when it became apparent they wouldn't move without his say so. "The Wall isn't getting any closer."

Mycroft didn't have to turn around to know they followed him, the nearly breathless question: "How did you do that?" From Not-Sherlock was enough proof that they did.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

#In Baker Street:

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Sherlock-"

"No, John."

"But Anthea said-"

"Of Course she said that, she's in on Mycroft's sick plan! What else is she supposed to say?!"

"Sherlock you're not making any sense, why would Mycroft-"

"For revenge, of course! Why else?! He's still angry about the whole 'Reichenbach' fiasco and this is his sick way of paying me back!"

"He's paying you back for pretend-dying by going missing?!"

"No, John. Not by going missing, by hiding where he knows I won't find him!"

"I don't think Mycroft would do such a thing…"

"Then you clearly don't know my brother! Well, in any case, he can hide wherever he wants for how long he wants! I am not falling for this obvious trick!"

Somehow, after listening to this, John gets the feeling that Mycroft isn't the one hiding in this situation…


	5. Chapter 5

"Coming of the Ice King."

Chapter 5

"M: Mycroft deduces, and is right. Then guesses, and is also right.

S: Stubbornly refuses to sees the truth."

"What I did really isn't as spectacular as you're making it out to be."

"You made them fight each other! The whole gang! How can that be anything but magic?!"

"I simply stated a few facts that he'd rather keep secret, I really do not see how that classifies as magic."

"But how in the world did you find out those things about him, if what you do isn't magic?"

"The art of Deduction is a simple observation technique." Mycroft explained with incredible patience gained from living his whole life with one Sherlock Holmes. The flow of questions began mere minutes after the left the fighting gang members, most coming, quite ironically, from Not-Sherlock. "Spies use this method of gaining information to uncover enemy secrets without having to resort to all the unpleasantness of interrogation." A half-truth. Only he and his brother use it in said purpose, his double-agents usually just beat the answers out of their victims. Brutes, the lot of them.

Not-Sherlock and Finn blinked at his admission.

"You're a spy?" The tall blonde asked. "Are you heading towards the Wall because you were discovered?''

The older Holmes nearly rolled his eyes.

No wonder this world was on the edge of becoming invaded by enemy forces and failing to do something to stop it, the people occupying this land were such simpletons that they make his local goldfishes look smart and competent in comparison, a feat that Mycroft had classified as 'mission impossible'.

"Why I head towards the Wall is none of your business, Mr. Finn.'' Mycroft replied coldly, sending the Crow one of his ice-glares. "And you're wrong. I'm not a spy, I'm a consultant. I give advice to the ruler of my country.'' Also known as occupying a minor position in the government. He added in his head out of habit. But you most likely wouldn't even know what that means.

"But you said-'' Not-Sherlock began, brown eyes narrowing in confusion.

"I also never said that Spies are the only ones capable of using this method of observation.'' The older Holmes pointed out, looking at the clone of his brother with a pointed look. "You simply assumed that they are.' After that he returned to leading the way. "Then you took that fact and transformed it into a 'deduction' about who I am.'' He scowled. "A rather pitiful one, but a deduction nonetheless.''

"So this 'deducting' thing is a…guessing game?'' A brown haired soldier, one who hasn't said anything up to this point, asked.

Mycroft snorted.

"Only complete and utter amateurs are forced to question the accuracy of their deductions.'' The elder Holmes brother stated, pulling slightly on Caramel's reins because the horse has slowed its pace and began slacking, ever since Mycroft offered to place the soldiers' food bags on his back. "Masters of the art are capable of finding out nearly anything they want about their target, just from looking at them." Well…he and Sherlock could, anyway. "Honestly, some people are so negligent with hiding their personal information, deducing them is a waste of time and energy." Mycroft muttered under his breath.

The four soldiers fell quiet for a solid minute, mulling over what their new companion decided to reveal about himself, as the small group made their way through the snow-covered forest towards their shared destination. Taking advantage of the silence, Mycroft allowed himself to think about all the cocequences his sudden disappearance has caused in both his line of work and his little brother's life.

Seeing him just disappear despite all the protection placed around his home probably sent his dear PA into a well hidden frenzy so it's safe to say the security feed from the camera in his room has already been in Sherlock's position for a good number of hours, assuming that the flow of time here in Westeros is at all similar to that of London, that is.

Wherever or not he did something in response to the video, in entirely up to debate.

The logical part of his brain told him that, taking their rocky relationship into account, his little brother has no reason to be worried about him and is more likely rejoicing that Mycroft is not watching over his shoulder 24/7, than leading a search party to try and bring him back.

The Big Brother part of him whispered that, though at first Sherlock deny it at every turn, his absence will be noticed and, eventually, missed.

He'll deny it at first, of course.

Mycroft was a constant in his life and the British Government, he can't just disappear out of the blue.

The Detective will think it's a trick to punish him for the, adequately named, 'Reichenbach Fall', and ignore any signs pointing to the contrary. Even those coming from his blogger and Anthea.

It will take a couple of days, or weeks if Sherlock is stubborn enough, along with a few tastes of what the world is like without Big Brother there to act as a buffer, but he'll accept that his older sibling really is gone in the end.

After that Mycroft isn't exactly sure what his younger brother will do, this hasn't exactly happened before. As long as the dark haired man was concerned, the elder Holmes was always within reach.

It was always Sherlock who got captured tortured and hurt, with Mycroft acting as the 'knight in a silk suit welding a sword-umbrella' and having to save his sorry behind, every time that happens.

God knows how he'll react to their roles suddenly being reversed.

Further thoughts regarding the actual younger Holmes, have been cut off by words said by Not-Sherlock:

"Why should we trust you?"

Mycroft stopped and looked behind him with a raised eyebrow, it seemed that the small company of soldiers has stopped blindingly following him for quite some time now, judging by the distance between them.

"Excuse me?"

"You said you are not a spy." Sherlock's clone said, eyes narrow and arms crossed on his chest in defiance. "How do we know you're not lieing?" How do we know your 'deductions' are not a fluke? Was left unsaid but everyone knew it was there.

Hearing this, Mycroft sighted and rubbed his eyelids. This is going to be a long walk, he can feel it in his bones.

"Does it matter?" The red haired man asked, his voice already sounding tired of this conversation. "I thought that, by saving you back there, I proved that I have no ill intensions towards your kind."

"It matters to me." Not-Sherlock insisted. "Even if you saved my life, I would still like to know if the person I'm traveling with wasn't sent to the Wall for treason."

The elder Holmes eyed him with cold eyes, not really feeling like proving anything to the soldier but also wanting to get to the Wall as quick as possible.

He sighted.

"And how exactly do you want me to prove to you that I am, in fact, not a spy?" He asked, shrugging in defeat and giving in to the younger man's wishes.

Not-Sherlock looked at his three companions and then back at Mycroft.

"The four of us have spent a fair share of time on the Wall." The curly-haired man said. "Since the place is heavily guarded and the chance of someone hiding in close proximity is none-existent, I'm pretty sure that, if your deductions about us are spot on, we can believe you to be the Councilor you claim to be."

Another sight escaped the older Holmes's mouth as he closed his eyes. The request was exactly what he'd thought it would be, a simple deduction challenge.

Nothing too hard, deducing people is Mycroft's bread and butter just as much as it is Sherlock's, but it would waste both time and energy. Two valuable resources that could be spent on more important things.

Like getting to the blasted Wall.

"Very well." He finally said, opening his eyes and looking deep into that of his challenger. "If that's what it takes to continue our way towards the Wall, so be it."

After taking a deep breath, he began deducing.

"Let's begin with you then, shall we?" Mycroft wasn't even waiting for an answer, already gathering information from the picture presented before him. "You're a bastard son of a monarch from the North, most likely the King." Ignoring the silly man's shocked gasp, the Ice Man continued. "How do I know that? Well…it's quite simple really. First: Your high endurance of low temperatures. Manifested by your body refusing to shiver like that of your fellow companions, that fact alone tells me that you, at the very least, have spent the majority of your life in a similar environment, which suggests the north region. Next: Your body built. Compared to your skinny friend over there, you clearly haven't experience much hunger in your life. Your body is well fed and used to regular, and meat-filled meals, something I'm sure can only happen in the dining hall of a wealthy house, especially during the winter. Following that little fact: We have your willingness to serve. Because you don't have a problem going into town and guarding fellow soldiers that have been sent to get food, to a society that clearly hates them, as a punishment for various misbehaviors, I can safely assume that your view of authority is different than that of your comrades. It clearly has been softened for you. An honorable and just king serving as a father-figure, perhaps?" Mycroft began to pace, finding that the additional movement of his legs to help him concentrate on what he wanted to say. "Following that train of thought-" He bluntly ignored the startled 'train?' from Finn- "we can also explain why you're here. Since you're only a 'bastard' there wasn't much for you to look forward in your life. You wouldn't be able to become king because of having mud-blood, the most you could be is an advisor to the oldest legal child, I also don't believe that the man's wife was very happy having you living in her home, so leaving her sight was the best option. Ending with you joining the Night Watch."

Ending his speech he looked at Not-Sherlock, who was staring back at him with his mouth agape.

"Have I missed anything?" Mycroft asked, rising an eyebrow. "Was I wrong in some way?"

Those questions seemed to have pulled the younger man out of his dreamland, for he shook his head.

"N-No, no. You were right, on everything." The dark haired man said, chocolate eyes shining. "That…that was…truly amazing, sir. The only thing you didn't guess yet is my name, and I wouldn't be shocked if you were spot on, on that too."

At that moment, hearing the familiar line of prizes, Mycroft got a truly absurd idea in his head.

He nearly berated himself, there was no way the Universe would be so lazy (or cruel). That is impossible, utterly improbable and he should be ashamed for even thinking that!

But then again, he pondered, what did he really have to lose?

His credibility? No, he just blew them away with it.

His pride? One little mistake won't hurt it. Not when his little brother isn't there to laugh at him.

Oh, what the hey? Might as well take a shot.

"Could your name be, by any chance, 'John'?" Mycroft took the risk, purposely looking up in the sky so that the face of Not-Sherlock was out of his view-point.

He could hear stunned gasps from the fellow soldiers and, nearly had a legitimate Heart-Attack when he heard the brown-haired soldier say:

"Jon? How the Hell did he know your name?"

So…Mycroft tried to calm himself down. Not only is this a man that looks exactly like one pesky little brother of mine, but he also happens to share a name with said man's best friend.

He stands corrected.

The Universe really is so lazy.

Or hates him.

He can't really decide.

"Coming of the Ice King."

Chapter 5

"M: Mycroft deduces, and is right. Then guesses, and is also right.

S: Stubbornly refuses to sees the truth."

"What I did really isn't as spectacular as you're making it out to be."

"You made them fight each other! The whole gang! How can that be anything but magic?!"

"I simply stated a few facts that he'd rather keep secret, I really do not see how that classifies as magic."

"But how in the world did you find out those things about him, if what you do isn't magic?"

"The art of Deduction is a simple observation technique." Mycroft explained with incredible patience gained from living his whole life with one Sherlock Holmes. The flow of questions began mere minutes after the left the fighting gang members, most coming, quite ironically, from Not-Sherlock. "Spies use this method of gaining information to uncover enemy secrets without having to resort to all the unpleasantness of interrogation." A half-truth. Only he and his brother use it in said purpose, his double-agents usually just beat the answers out of their victims. Brutes, the lot of them.

Not-Sherlock and Finn blinked at his admission.

"You're a spy?" The tall blonde asked. "Are you heading towards the Wall because you were discovered?''

The older Holmes nearly rolled his eyes.

No wonder this world was on the edge of becoming invaded by enemy forces and failing to do something to stop it, the people occupying this land were such simpletons that they make his local goldfishes look smart and competent in comparison, a feat that Mycroft had classified as 'mission impossible'.

"Why I head towards the Wall is none of your business, Mr. Finn.'' Mycroft replied coldly, sending the Crow one of his ice-glares. "And you're wrong. I'm not a spy, I'm a consultant. I give advice to the ruler of my country.'' Also known as occupying a minor position in the government. He added in his head out of habit. But you most likely wouldn't even know what that means.

"But you said-'' Not-Sherlock began, brown eyes narrowing in confusion.

"I also never said that Spies are the only ones capable of using this method of observation.'' The older Holmes pointed out, looking at the clone of his brother with a pointed look. "You simply assumed that they are.' After that he returned to leading the way. "Then you took that fact and transformed it into a 'deduction' about who I am.'' He scowled. "A rather pitiful one, but a deduction nonetheless.''

"So this 'deducting' thing is a…guessing game?'' A brown haired soldier, one who hasn't said anything up to this point, asked.

Mycroft snorted.

"Only complete and utter amateurs are forced to question the accuracy of their deductions.'' The elder Holmes brother stated, pulling slightly on Caramel's reins because the horse has slowed its pace and began slacking, ever since Mycroft offered to place the soldiers' food bags on his back. "Masters of the art are capable of finding out nearly anything they want about their target, just from looking at them." Well…he and Sherlock could, anyway. "Honestly, some people are so negligent with hiding their personal information, deducing them is a waste of time and energy." Mycroft muttered under his breath.

The four soldiers fell quiet for a solid minute, mulling over what their new companion decided to reveal about himself, as the small group made their way through the snow-covered forest towards their shared destination. Taking advantage of the silence, Mycroft allowed himself to think about all the cocequences his sudden disappearance has caused in both his line of work and his little brother's life.

Seeing him just disappear despite all the protection placed around his home probably sent his dear PA into a well hidden frenzy so it's safe to say the security feed from the camera in his room has already been in Sherlock's position for a good number of hours, assuming that the flow of time here in Westeros is at all similar to that of London, that is.

Wherever or not he did something in response to the video, in entirely up to debate.

The logical part of his brain told him that, taking their rocky relationship into account, his little brother has no reason to be worried about him and is more likely rejoicing that Mycroft is not watching over his shoulder 24/7, than leading a search party to try and bring him back.

The Big Brother part of him whispered that, though at first Sherlock deny it at every turn, his absence will be noticed and, eventually, missed.

He'll deny it at first, of course.

Mycroft was a constant in his life and the British Government, he can't just disappear out of the blue.

The Detective will think it's a trick to punish him for the, adequately named, 'Reichenbach Fall', and ignore any signs pointing to the contrary. Even those coming from his blogger and Anthea.

It will take a couple of days, or weeks if Sherlock is stubborn enough, along with a few tastes of what the world is like without Big Brother there to act as a buffer, but he'll accept that his older sibling really is gone in the end.

After that Mycroft isn't exactly sure what his younger brother will do, this hasn't exactly happened before. As long as the dark haired man was concerned, the elder Holmes was always within reach.

It was always Sherlock who got captured tortured and hurt, with Mycroft acting as the 'knight in a silk suit welding a sword-umbrella' and having to save his sorry behind, every time that happens.

God knows how he'll react to their roles suddenly being reversed.

Further thoughts regarding the actual younger Holmes, have been cut off by words said by Not-Sherlock:

"Why should we trust you?"

Mycroft stopped and looked behind him with a raised eyebrow, it seemed that the small company of soldiers has stopped blindingly following him for quite some time now, judging by the distance between them.

"Excuse me?"

"You said you are not a spy." Sherlock's clone said, eyes narrow and arms crossed on his chest in defiance. "How do we know you're not lieing?" How do we know your 'deductions' are not a fluke? Was left unsaid but everyone knew it was there.

Hearing this, Mycroft sighted and rubbed his eyelids. This is going to be a long walk, he can feel it in his bones.

"Does it matter?" The red haired man asked, his voice already sounding tired of this conversation. "I thought that, by saving you back there, I proved that I have no ill intensions towards your kind."

"It matters to me." Not-Sherlock insisted. "Even if you saved my life, I would still like to know if the person I'm traveling with wasn't sent to the Wall for treason."

The elder Holmes eyed him with cold eyes, not really feeling like proving anything to the soldier but also wanting to get to the Wall as quick as possible.

He sighted.

"And how exactly do you want me to prove to you that I am, in fact, not a spy?" He asked, shrugging in defeat and giving in to the younger man's wishes.

Not-Sherlock looked at his three companions and then back at Mycroft.

"The four of us have spent a fair share of time on the Wall." The curly-haired man said. "Since the place is heavily guarded and the chance of someone hiding in close proximity is none-existent, I'm pretty sure that, if your deductions about us are spot on, we can believe you to be the Councilor you claim to be."

Another sight escaped the older Holmes's mouth as he closed his eyes. The request was exactly what he'd thought it would be, a simple deduction challenge.

Nothing too hard, deducing people is Mycroft's bread and butter just as much as it is Sherlock's, but it would waste both time and energy. Two valuable resources that could be spent on more important things.

Like getting to the blasted Wall.

"Very well." He finally said, opening his eyes and looking deep into that of his challenger. "If that's what it takes to continue our way towards the Wall, so be it."

After taking a deep breath, he began deducing.

"Let's begin with you then, shall we?" Mycroft wasn't even waiting for an answer, already gathering information from the picture presented before him. "You're a bastard son of a monarch from the North, most likely the King." Ignoring the silly man's shocked gasp, the Ice Man continued. "How do I know that? Well…it's quite simple really. First: Your high endurance of low temperatures. Manifested by your body refusing to shiver like that of your fellow companions, that fact alone tells me that you, at the very least, have spent the majority of your life in a similar environment, which suggests the north region. Next: Your body built. Compared to your skinny friend over there, you clearly haven't experience much hunger in your life. Your body is well fed and used to regular, and meat-filled meals, something I'm sure can only happen in the dining hall of a wealthy house, especially during the winter. Following that little fact: We have your willingness to serve. Because you don't have a problem going into town and guarding fellow soldiers that have been sent to get food, to a society that clearly hates them, as a punishment for various misbehaviors, I can safely assume that your view of authority is different than that of your comrades. It clearly has been softened for you. An honorable and just king serving as a father-figure, perhaps?" Mycroft began to pace, finding that the additional movement of his legs to help him concentrate on what he wanted to say. "Following that train of thought-" He bluntly ignored the startled 'train?' from Finn- "we can also explain why you're here. Since you're only a 'bastard' there wasn't much for you to look forward in your life. You wouldn't be able to become king because of having mud-blood, the most you could be is an advisor to the oldest legal child, I also don't believe that the man's wife was very happy having you living in her home, so leaving her sight was the best option. Ending with you joining the Night Watch."

Ending his speech he looked at Not-Sherlock, who was staring back at him with his mouth agape.

"Have I missed anything?" Mycroft asked, rising an eyebrow. "Was I wrong in some way?"

Those questions seemed to have pulled the younger man out of his dreamland, for he shook his head.

"N-No, no. You were right, on everything." The dark haired man said, chocolate eyes shining. "That…that was…truly amazing, sir. The only thing you didn't guess yet is my name, and I wouldn't be shocked if you were spot on, on that too."

At that moment, hearing the familiar line of prizes, Mycroft got a truly absurd idea in his head.

He nearly berated himself, there was no way the Universe would be so lazy (or cruel). That is impossible, utterly improbable and he should be ashamed for even thinking that!

But then again, he pondered, what did he really have to lose?

His credibility? No, he just blew them away with it.

His pride? One little mistake won't hurt it. Not when his little brother isn't there to laugh at him.

Oh, what the hey? Might as well take a shot.

"Could your name be, by any chance, 'John'?" Mycroft took the risk, purposely looking up in the sky so that the face of Not-Sherlock was out of his view-point.

He could hear stunned gasps from the fellow soldiers and, nearly had a legitimate Heart-Attack when he heard the brown-haired soldier say:

"Jon? How the Hell did he know your name?"

So…Mycroft tried to calm himself down. Not only is this a man that looks exactly like one pesky little brother of mine, but he also happens to share a name with said man's best friend.

He stands corrected.

The Universe really is so lazy.

Or hates him.

He can't really decide.

"Coming of the Ice King."

Chapter 5

"M: Mycroft deduces, and is right. Then guesses, and is also right.

S: Stubbornly refuses to sees the truth."

"What I did really isn't as spectacular as you're making it out to be."

"You made them fight each other! The whole gang! How can that be anything but magic?!"

"I simply stated a few facts that he'd rather keep secret, I really do not see how that classifies as magic."

"But how in the world did you find out those things about him, if what you do isn't magic?"

"The art of Deduction is a simple observation technique." Mycroft explained with incredible patience gained from living his whole life with one Sherlock Holmes. The flow of questions began mere minutes after the left the fighting gang members, most coming, quite ironically, from Not-Sherlock. "Spies use this method of gaining information to uncover enemy secrets without having to resort to all the unpleasantness of interrogation." A half-truth. Only he and his brother use it in said purpose, his double-agents usually just beat the answers out of their victims. Brutes, the lot of them.

Not-Sherlock and Finn blinked at his admission.

"You're a spy?" The tall blonde asked. "Are you heading towards the Wall because you were discovered?''

The older Holmes nearly rolled his eyes.

No wonder this world was on the edge of becoming invaded by enemy forces and failing to do something to stop it, the people occupying this land were such simpletons that they make his local goldfishes look smart and competent in comparison, a feat that Mycroft had classified as 'mission impossible'.

"Why I head towards the Wall is none of your business, Mr. Finn.'' Mycroft replied coldly, sending the Crow one of his ice-glares. "And you're wrong. I'm not a spy, I'm a consultant. I give advice to the ruler of my country.'' Also known as occupying a minor position in the government. He added in his head out of habit. But you most likely wouldn't even know what that means.

"But you said-'' Not-Sherlock began, brown eyes narrowing in confusion.

"I also never said that Spies are the only ones capable of using this method of observation.'' The older Holmes pointed out, looking at the clone of his brother with a pointed look. "You simply assumed that they are.' After that he returned to leading the way. "Then you took that fact and transformed it into a 'deduction' about who I am.'' He scowled. "A rather pitiful one, but a deduction nonetheless.''

"So this 'deducting' thing is a…guessing game?'' A brown haired soldier, one who hasn't said anything up to this point, asked.

Mycroft snorted.

"Only complete and utter amateurs are forced to question the accuracy of their deductions.'' The elder Holmes brother stated, pulling slightly on Caramel's reins because the horse has slowed its pace and began slacking, ever since Mycroft offered to place the soldiers' food bags on his back. "Masters of the art are capable of finding out nearly anything they want about their target, just from looking at them." Well…he and Sherlock could, anyway. "Honestly, some people are so negligent with hiding their personal information, deducing them is a waste of time and energy." Mycroft muttered under his breath.

The four soldiers fell quiet for a solid minute, mulling over what their new companion decided to reveal about himself, as the small group made their way through the snow-covered forest towards their shared destination. Taking advantage of the silence, Mycroft allowed himself to think about all the cocequences his sudden disappearance has caused in both his line of work and his little brother's life.

Seeing him just disappear despite all the protection placed around his home probably sent his dear PA into a well hidden frenzy so it's safe to say the security feed from the camera in his room has already been in Sherlock's position for a good number of hours, assuming that the flow of time here in Westeros is at all similar to that of London, that is.

Wherever or not he did something in response to the video, in entirely up to debate.

The logical part of his brain told him that, taking their rocky relationship into account, his little brother has no reason to be worried about him and is more likely rejoicing that Mycroft is not watching over his shoulder 24/7, than leading a search party to try and bring him back.

The Big Brother part of him whispered that, though at first Sherlock deny it at every turn, his absence will be noticed and, eventually, missed.

He'll deny it at first, of course.

Mycroft was a constant in his life and the British Government, he can't just disappear out of the blue.

The Detective will think it's a trick to punish him for the, adequately named, 'Reichenbach Fall', and ignore any signs pointing to the contrary. Even those coming from his blogger and Anthea.

It will take a couple of days, or weeks if Sherlock is stubborn enough, along with a few tastes of what the world is like without Big Brother there to act as a buffer, but he'll accept that his older sibling really is gone in the end.

After that Mycroft isn't exactly sure what his younger brother will do, this hasn't exactly happened before. As long as the dark haired man was concerned, the elder Holmes was always within reach.

It was always Sherlock who got captured tortured and hurt, with Mycroft acting as the 'knight in a silk suit welding a sword-umbrella' and having to save his sorry behind, every time that happens.

God knows how he'll react to their roles suddenly being reversed.

Further thoughts regarding the actual younger Holmes, have been cut off by words said by Not-Sherlock:

"Why should we trust you?"

Mycroft stopped and looked behind him with a raised eyebrow, it seemed that the small company of soldiers has stopped blindingly following him for quite some time now, judging by the distance between them.

"Excuse me?"

"You said you are not a spy." Sherlock's clone said, eyes narrow and arms crossed on his chest in defiance. "How do we know you're not lieing?" How do we know your 'deductions' are not a fluke? Was left unsaid but everyone knew it was there.

Hearing this, Mycroft sighted and rubbed his eyelids. This is going to be a long walk, he can feel it in his bones.

"Does it matter?" The red haired man asked, his voice already sounding tired of this conversation. "I thought that, by saving you back there, I proved that I have no ill intensions towards your kind."

"It matters to me." Not-Sherlock insisted. "Even if you saved my life, I would still like to know if the person I'm traveling with wasn't sent to the Wall for treason."

The elder Holmes eyed him with cold eyes, not really feeling like proving anything to the soldier but also wanting to get to the Wall as quick as possible.

He sighted.

"And how exactly do you want me to prove to you that I am, in fact, not a spy?" He asked, shrugging in defeat and giving in to the younger man's wishes.

Not-Sherlock looked at his three companions and then back at Mycroft.

"The four of us have spent a fair share of time on the Wall." The curly-haired man said. "Since the place is heavily guarded and the chance of someone hiding in close proximity is none-existent, I'm pretty sure that, if your deductions about us are spot on, we can believe you to be the Councilor you claim to be."

Another sight escaped the older Holmes's mouth as he closed his eyes. The request was exactly what he'd thought it would be, a simple deduction challenge.

Nothing too hard, deducing people is Mycroft's bread and butter just as much as it is Sherlock's, but it would waste both time and energy. Two valuable resources that could be spent on more important things.

Like getting to the blasted Wall.

"Very well." He finally said, opening his eyes and looking deep into that of his challenger. "If that's what it takes to continue our way towards the Wall, so be it."

After taking a deep breath, he began deducing.

"Let's begin with you then, shall we?" Mycroft wasn't even waiting for an answer, already gathering information from the picture presented before him. "You're a bastard son of a monarch from the North, most likely the King." Ignoring the silly man's shocked gasp, the Ice Man continued. "How do I know that? Well…it's quite simple really. First: Your high endurance of low temperatures. Manifested by your body refusing to shiver like that of your fellow companions, that fact alone tells me that you, at the very least, have spent the majority of your life in a similar environment, which suggests the north region. Next: Your body built. Compared to your skinny friend over there, you clearly haven't experience much hunger in your life. Your body is well fed and used to regular, and meat-filled meals, something I'm sure can only happen in the dining hall of a wealthy house, especially during the winter. Following that little fact: We have your willingness to serve. Because you don't have a problem going into town and guarding fellow soldiers that have been sent to get food, to a society that clearly hates them, as a punishment for various misbehaviors, I can safely assume that your view of authority is different than that of your comrades. It clearly has been softened for you. An honorable and just king serving as a father-figure, perhaps?" Mycroft began to pace, finding that the additional movement of his legs to help him concentrate on what he wanted to say. "Following that train of thought-" He bluntly ignored the startled 'train?' from Finn- "we can also explain why you're here. Since you're only a 'bastard' there wasn't much for you to look forward in your life. You wouldn't be able to become king because of having mud-blood, the most you could be is an advisor to the oldest legal child, I also don't believe that the man's wife was very happy having you living in her home, so leaving her sight was the best option. Ending with you joining the Night Watch."

Ending his speech he looked at Not-Sherlock, who was staring back at him with his mouth agape.

"Have I missed anything?" Mycroft asked, rising an eyebrow. "Was I wrong in some way?"

Those questions seemed to have pulled the younger man out of his dreamland, for he shook his head.

"N-No, no. You were right, on everything." The dark haired man said, chocolate eyes shining. "That…that was…truly amazing, sir. The only thing you didn't guess yet is my name, and I wouldn't be shocked if you were spot on, on that too."

At that moment, hearing the familiar line of prizes, Mycroft got a truly absurd idea in his head.

He nearly berated himself, there was no way the Universe would be so lazy (or cruel). That is impossible, utterly improbable and he should be ashamed for even thinking that!

But then again, he pondered, what did he really have to lose?

His credibility? No, he just blew them away with it.

His pride? One little mistake won't hurt it. Not when his little brother isn't there to laugh at him.

Oh, what the hey? Might as well take a shot.

"Could your name be, by any chance, 'John'?" Mycroft took the risk, purposely looking up in the sky so that the face of Not-Sherlock was out of his view-point.

He could hear stunned gasps from the fellow soldiers and, nearly had a legitimate Heart-Attack when he heard the brown-haired soldier say:

"Jon? How the Hell did he know your name?"

So…Mycroft tried to calm himself down. Not only is this a man that looks exactly like one pesky little brother of mine, but he also happens to share a name with said man's best friend.

He stands corrected.

The Universe really is so lazy.

Or hates him.

He can't really decide.

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When John picked up his phone to call Lestrade, what he saw was this string of messages sent by Sherlock to Mycroft:

'Mycroft this isn't funny.-SH' 10:12

'I thought you were above running away, isn't that what angst-y teenagers do?-SH' 10:15

'If you don't answer this text I'm calling Mummy-SH' 10:18

'Mummy notified. You have been warned.-SH' 10:22

'The gig is out, why are you still hiding?-SH' 10:26

'I didn't really call, Mummy. It was supposed to force you out.-SH' 10:30

'I tracked your phone, Mycroft. Consider yourself found.-SH' 10:33

'I lied about the phone, but you already knew that. Otherwise you wouldn't be hiding.-SH' 10:36

'MYCROFT!-SH' 10:40

There was about ten more messages but, the one that made John's heart squeeze was this one:

'Myc, whatever I did, I'm sorry. Please just come out.-SH' 11:00


	6. Chapter 6

"Coming of the Ice King."

Chapter 6

"M: Reaches the wall…and is understandably impressed

S: Has a talk with his inner big brother."

Mycroft might have felt slightly perplexed after his brain estimated the general size of The Wall, when it became visible from a distance, since yes, it was enormous, but still relatively plausible if approached with a qualified team of builders.

Despite being sure the world he was sent to save was nothing like his dear London, the time period difference was evidence enough, the laws of physics seem to be one of the things they actually have in common.

One little thread of normalcy he can hold onto, in order for his sanity to remain intact throughout the ordeal.

That little piece of comfort was quickly thrown out the window when he finally stood face-to-face with the thing. The giant row of ice blocks overshadowing the sun, leaving him and his companions in a dark shadow, no beginning or end in sight no matter how far he looked, and the sheer coldness emitting from it rivalling that of a strong winter wind.

For a long moment, all he could do was stare at this impossible construction, his mind trying to find a logical explanation for its existence.

"Pretty impressive, isn't it?" Finn's voice said from somewhere besides him, sounding admiring of the behemoth. "Big as a mountain, cold as the upcoming winter and as everlasting as the Seven Gods. Truly one of our race's greatest creations."

It astounded the elder Holmes just how much more trusting they became of him, once he ratted out all their deepest secret to everyone who cared to listen. Mycroft may be more experienced in dealing with their fellow humanoids than his brother, but even he can be astounded by their way of thinking once or twice.

Right now that honor goes to the character right beside him who took his own dressing-down almost unsettlingly well.

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Once the Night watchers stopped gasping in amazement regarding his deductions about their superior, Mycroft decided to move on to another target. Setting his eyes on the blond warrior to Jon's left, he began dissecting the poor sod.

"Now you, Mr. Finn are far more interesting specimen to play deductions on, than your Lord Commander." He said with a predator's look in his eyes. "I believe you come from a warmer climate than Jon, judging by your inability to stand cooler temperatures in a similar fashion, most likely somewhere with a lot of rivers considering your scent is overcome with that of river moss. Now, for why you ended up joining the merry band of men in black…may I place your collective attention towards that rather nicely crafted dagger, hanging from his belt." Immediately all the young heads snapped towards the small weapon, even the owners. "I believe that the answer to that question is hidden within the smooth metal of that blade, for it played quite a large role in your story." The fox-haired man then gestured with his hand and Finn dutifully placed said object in the waiting limb. Mycroft nodded his head and began examining the blade, turning it around in his fingers and even sniffing it at some point, before turning his sharp eyes back to the youngsters waiting in anticipation.

"This little blade tells the tale of a rather tragic love story, a love triangle if you may, where a young lady is married off by her father rich father to a man she doesn't love and tries to cope by having an affair with another young man on the sidelines." Mycroft traced the beautiful carvings on the dagger, silently watching the blonde's reactions from the corner of his eyes. Ah, there was the first nervous shifting of posture. Good. He was getting somewhere then. "One day the pair wasn't careful enough and they were caught red handed by the husband. Naturally, as you may figure, the man wasn't very pleased with what he witnessed so he resorted to the one thing all you simpletons understand, violence. And this-" Mycroft placed the knife up to their eye-level. "-was the man's choice of weapon, the same knife gifted to him by the bride's father as a wedding present. Such irony…the exact weapon given to him for personal protection was the same one that caused his demise. Isn't that right, Mr. Finn?"

The man in question was slowly nodding his head in confirmation, obviously wondering what else the strange man was able to deduce from such a common object.

"Suffice to say the encounter was resolved fairly quickly, as the attacker was untrained in physical combat as opposed to young Mr. Finn here, with the poor man having his throat cut open for the sole crime of wanting to protect his marriage." With that said Mycroft threw the blade back to its original owner, as he no longer had any use for it. "Taking this little tale into account we can all deduce that, Mr. Finn had joined the Night's Watch in order to evade being punished for said crime."

The surprised looks, as well as a jaw-drop from the dissected blonde, told the elder Holmes brother that he was, once again, right in his deductions, gaining him another point closer to gaining their complete trust.

But what spoiled this little victory of his, was the fact that they already knew all this.

Apparently the tallest of all the soldiers wasn't exactly discreet about what brought him to the Wall. He was the exact opposite in fact. He viewed his…accomplishment as a source of pride, so he bragged about it to any poor sod that was willing to listen.

Which meant that his deductions didn't bother him in the least, crushing Mycroft's hopes of making the man sweat bullets in fear of what he may say next.

He could very well say Finn did his mother on weekends and the idiot would still be bloody proud of it.

Having been told that Mycroft shook his head and threw his hands in the air, mumbling something about 'wasting his deduction skills on goldfish that don't even bother to hide their darkest secrets', before pulling on Caramels reins and forcing the little group to continue their walk.

He refused to deduce Cotter, the skinny ex-thief, and Gared, the brown haired soldier, until his head supposedly stops hurting.

The amount of stupidity was causing him migraines.

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Mycroft nodded to the walking contradiction of normal human behavior, his eyes still on the large behemoth before him.

"It is quite the large construction, though hardly the only one I had the privilege of seeing." He admitted. "Back in my country we have a similar building, perhaps even with the same kind of purpose as this one." Not the full truth but close enough. They don't need to know all the details as it's not like either of them will ever go to his world to verify it.

"Your country has a Wall?" The question came from Jon who could be found on Mycroft's other side. "Does thereat of Wildlings linger over your people's heads, as well?" He asked, concern filling each word, reminding the red-head of a certain person sharing his name.

"No." He shook his head. "The threat it was built to protect us from, has long since passed."

"Then why leave it there?" The brown haired man named Gared, asked curious. "If it has served its purpose, why not take it down and use the materials to build something else?"

"It remains standing as a remainder of all the people that died both building and protecting it from all those that tried to take it down." Mycroft stated, gravely, then added in the same tone. "Even builders need their memorials."

Silence fell after those words were spoken, something the older Holmes was grateful for, it was just what his grim telling needed. A moment of silence for all the lives lost.

Once said moment was over, Cotter, who hasn't said a word since Mycroft deduced both Jon and Finn, decided to ask the question that has probably lingered in their heads from the moment the fox haired man first spoke:

"So…now that you reached the Wall, what will you do next?"

All four head looked at him expectantly, wanting to learn all they can about him before they inevitably part ways and life becomes boring again.

"What next?" Mycroft repeated the question, still watching the other Watchers move around the wooden constructions on the ice wall, something he failed to acknowledge when he first looked upon the behemoth, small as ants and just as black. "Well…getting to the other side, of course."

He didn't expect the giant uproar of discouragement that resulted from telling them his real intentions as apparently going over the Wall was seen as very dangerous, and only Watchers are allowed to lead occasional patrols near the border.

That does nothing to discourage the brave Shadow behind the British Government, as you might imagine, but, if Jon and his crew are going to actually take it upon themselves to prevent him from crossing, then by all means.

He'd like to see them try.

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Sherlock was sitting on his chair in his Mind Palace, hands under his chin and eyes closed.

"I don't understand." He spoke to the figure in the shadows. "What do you hope to gain from this?"

The man didn't answer, only looked at the curly haired detective with a sad twinkle in his eyes.

"I'm not falling for this, I never did. You know that." Sherlock looked at the man, hints of desperation shining in his bright blue eyes. "Then why? Why use this cheap disappearing tactic? Why the act of supposedly being kidnapped? When are you planning on putting a stop to this nonsense? When England falls and you have no choice but to return?"

The figure still refused to answer, leaving the Detective in silence once more.

"There is no…point, to this." Sherlock continued. "Even if you hid for a month you still wouldn't get what you wanted, we both know I wouldn't learn the lesson and, even if I did I wouldn't show it, I'm much to stubborn to allow you the satisfaction. And your tactics are never like that, you always win. It's not like you to…make a faulty decision."

Silence answered.

"I…I'm starting to think that…" The young man swallowed.

"You're not hiding at all…"

He looked at the direction of where the figure stood.

But there was nobody there.


	7. Chapter 7

"Coming of the Ice King."

Chapter 6

"M: Gets into a spat and is going to fight in a duel.

Denner, more commonly known as Frostfinger, was cursing under his breath as he passed by the training grounds, and saw the new Night Watch recruits clumsily swing around their practice swords. Nearly knocking themselves over in the process.

"What the Hell are you doing, you bloody idiots?!" He snarled at them. "You're supposed to hit the mannequins, not yourselves!" After saying that he marched up to the nearest rookie, and brutally took the wooden weapon away from him. "I'm placing you three imbeciles on wash-up duty until I'm sure you won't end up decapitating your fellow brothers in the nearest scuffle, is that understood?!"

"But-"Of course the little shits tried to argue. How…predictable.

Using the insubordination as an excuse to justify what he was about to do next, Denner cut the brat's shins from behind making his victim land flat on his arse with a, rather undignified and feminine sounding, squeak. A sound which almost made the grumpy overseer smile, after all…if he was going to be stuck training those pathetic fools, he might as well have some fun while doing it.

Mere seconds later the unfortunate man found his own practice sword being pointed at his unprotected neck.

"Anyone else wants to voice his complaints?" Frostfinger asked, his sharp brown eyes jumping from one youth to another.

After seeing what happened to their companion, combined with the man's firesome reputation of a man that can make life hell for any recruit foolish enough to anger him, the rest of the brats made the wise choice of keeping the mouths shut.

"I didn't think so." The officer responsible for training nodded and threw the stick of a sword back at it owner. "Now…off you go. The dishes aren't going to clean themselves." He grumbled back at them as he walked away to continue his search, smiling when their angry whispers reached his ears.

Ah…how he loved ruffling their feathers…

Abusing his power over the new recruits to vent his frustrations, while highly unprofessional, helps make his own situation a lot more bearable.

After all…whenever he himself feels aggravated by his higher-ups or simply has a bad day, he can make sure those under him feel just as horribly as he does.

The fact that he looks like a typical Night Watch veteran: medium height, broad shoulders, long greasy black hair, his chin sporting a small beard, and a permanent angry scowl stuck on his face; only helped fulfil his endeavors. As even the newest arrivals to the camp could immediately tell what function he's going to have in their new lives.

Given his position it must come with no surprise to anyone that Denner hated tardiness with a fiery passion, especially if it was practiced by idiots that just happen to serve under him.

"Did Snow return from gathering supplies, yet?" He barked at the two dolts, he didn't bother remembering the names of, standing guard at the entrance to the camp.

His normally pissy mood was not helped by the fact that he was informed rather late that the Lord Commander, Alliser Thorne, sent John Snow along with some of the newer recruits: Finn, Gared Tuttle and Cotter to gather supplies. Resulting in him wasting most of the early morning searching for the tree bloody fools, before somebody finally took pity on him and informed him of their whereabouts.

Once he was enlightened in that matter, he shrugged accepting his superior's decision and returned to oversee the training of the others under his wing.

All this happened five hours ago.

Snow should be patrolling the Wall for an hour now and, instead, he was God knows where.

"We don't know, Sir." The red-head of the guards answered, head low. "We just took over from Riven and Samuel. It's possible he came back while they were here, but you'd have to ask them to be sure, Sir."

Frostfinger didn't dignify that with a coherent answer, leaving the poor sod to be satisfied with receiving mere grumpy noises for all his troubles, as the elder continued down his path.

The news, though seemingly helpful, did nothing to help Denner in his search. As he never bothered to remember the names of all his underlings (unless they happen to be particularly annoying), leaving him with nothing but his eyesight to find the quartet of idiots.

Just as he was about to result to yelling Jon Snow's name over and over again, until either the man answers or someone else tells him to 'kindly shut up and go there, please', Frostfinger heard sounds of an argument happening somewhere outside the camp fences.

"Please, Mycroft, be reasonable!" Came the smooth voice of the source of all his current problems, who seemed to be talking to someone called…Mycroft? Strange name that. "Going beyond the Wall is suicidal! The forest is filled with wildlings!"

Frostfinger nearly rolled his eyes at that.

This is why calls them all idiots, they always state the absolute obvious.

"While I admire your…concern for my wellbeing, Jon." A voice one he couldn't recognize, obviously belonging to the mysterious 'Mycroft' fella, stated calmly. "I'm afraid this was never up for debate." The man added sternly. "I am going over to the other side, and nothing you'll say will change my decision."

Unfortunately for 'Mycroft' Jon, it seemed, wasn't the only one willing to argue with him.

"But…But only Night Guards can go over the Wall!" Ah…good old Finn, with his good old pea-brained arguments. "How are you going to go there without being one of us?"

Denner can hear the only non-Night Watcher snort, and frankly can understand.

Apparently the concept of 'sneaking out without everyone noticing' is temporarily escaping the sandy haired man.

"So say the rules of your country. I don't come from your country, therefore those rules don't apply to me." The newcomer countered, the response sparking Frostfinger's interest as the rules regarding the Wall apply to everyone in Westeros.

Did this mean that the mysterious stranger was some kind of demigod that came from the high heavens?

"Even if that's true, we can't just let you go!" This voice belonged to another of Denner's newest sources of aggravation, Gared Tuttle. A born troublemaker, that one. Just you wait until he ends up getting one of his fellow brothers killed, in his schemes.

Well, in any case, as interesting as this conversation was, it's about time Frostfinger butted in and punished the tardy for their…tardiness.

"There you are, Snow!" He called out, walking around the wooden wall he was hiding behind and making his way towards the arguing group. "About time you showed up, Thorne was getting worried about the food." Denner stated with narrowed eyes, as he looked at his sworn brothers.

Jon and Gared were standing to his left now, with Cotter, who hasn't said anything yet to Frostfinger's amazement, and Finn being on his right. The lot of them surrounding a man he presumed to be the for-mentioned 'Mycroft'.

The man, for a lack of better words, stood out like a sore thumb at the moment.

Not only was he the tallest of the group, standing an inch or two taller than the already pretty long Finn, but he also wore clothes that were a lot lighter than the standard Night's Watch outfit, their dark brown color refreshing among all the black and white around it.

Everything else was pretty standard in Denner's opinion.

Sharp ice-blue eyes, short auburn curls and a pair of hunting knives hanging from each side.

A hunter? The elder soldier thought, still looking the red-head man up and down. No…looks too well fed to be relying on forest rodents, to be his main source of nourishment. Especially in theses dire times.

Interesting…Denner thought, locking his brown eyes with the stranger's icy-blue ones. A man with hunter knives that doesn't hunt.

For a second he could swear he saw the sharp orbs narrow, as if the man knew exactly what he was thinking.

"We're sorry for being late, Sir." Cotter's voice made Frostfinger break the eye contact with 'Mycroft' and turn to the ex-thief. "But we had a…situation along the way that delayed our return to the camp."

Frostfinger allowed his cold glare to slide away from Cotter's soft gray eyes, and land on Jon's brown ones.

"What kind of 'situation'?" He asked the young ranger while crossing his arms on his chest.

He watched as Stark's bastard son opened his mouth to reply, but got intercepted by 'Mycroft'.

"Ambush." The fox-haired man answered curtly. "I am lucky they came across me when they did, or that marry gang of robbers would have been the death of me."

Denner narrowed his eyes at the stranger, and received a raised eyebrow in response.

A likely story, considering Snow's soft heart and overall will to help those in need, but…there was something in the way Finn and Gared exchanged glances, that told him this wasn't exactly the whole truth.

"Is that so…" He finally murmured, after a few minutes of silence. "Nevertheless, I can't let this go unpunished." Denner turned his icy glare at the quartet of brats before him. "Recruits, report to Carter in the kitchen. You'll be helping the other three dolts clean it up for the next three week, after every single meal." His eyes then landed on Jon. "Though it's not my place to decide your punishment any more, I'll be speaking about it with the Lord Commander next time we see each other."

He was about to say 'dismissed' when the word 'Preposterous' reached his ears.

"Excuse me?" Frostfinger whispered, his tone low as he turned to fix the red-head with his most intimidating glare.

'Mycroft' didn't even flinch.

"Punishing loyal soldiers for tardiness, while blatantly ignoring the fact that they saved a man from certain death…" The not-hunter shook his head. "I doubt this was a proper show of military discipline, especially when we take to account the fact that they are being reprimanded for things completely out of their control."

Denner rounded on him immediately, enjoying the unspoken challenge.

"Who the Hell asked you for your opinion, Big Boy?" He asked through clinched teeth. "Unless you occupy a higher rank than me, I don't see how anything you say can be taken into account."

'Mycroft' looked at him with cool eyes, not raising to the bait.

"I would tell you the extension of influence that comes with my job description back at home, if I wasn't worried I'd end up completely ruining your self-esteem." Came the icy response.

"Oh ho ho." Frostfinger grinned. "Feeling brave now, are we?" He unsheathed his long sword and moved the tip dangerously close to the taller man's neck. "Perhaps we should check if you're as good with a sword, as you are with words, Big Boy?" He grinned. "Or are you just a big fluffy couch dog? All bark and no bite?"

Frostfinger could see, in the corner of his eye, the man fingering the hilt of his right knife.

"I wouldn't want to hurt you, Old Man." The fox-haired man said, voice still icy. "It would be a real shame of you ended up pulling a muscle, trying to wave around that massive sword of yours."

Denner grit his teeth.

"Now you listen to me you-" He started but was cut off by Jon.

"Stop it, both of you!" The young man pushed the two men apart and placed himself between them. First he looked at Mycroft. "While I'm sure the rest appreciates your effort as much as I do, Mycroft, it really wasn't your place to intervene, no matter how good your intentions where."

The red-head wanted to argue but ended up biting his tongue, and looking away angrily.

Denner still counted that as a victory.

Jon then turned to Frostfinger.

"Sir, while I don't fully agree with your disciplinary methods, you have every right to punish your underlings however you see fit, when they do something you deem as wrong." He then bowed his head to him. "Finn, Cotter and Gared will do as you please, while I wait for my own punishment from the Lord Commander."

With that he walked away towards camp, the rest of the dolts following close behind, to attend to either their punishments or Night Watch duties.

Once they were out of sight the remaining two returned to glaring at each other.

"Today, training grounds, after dinner." Frostfinger placed his sword back it its sheath.

'Mycroft' nodded, eyes grim and filled with determination.

"I'll be there."


	8. Chapter 8

"Coming of the Ice King."

Chapter 7

"M: Talking horses and duels

S: Looks for distractions."

"That insufferable, stupid, overconfident old Coot!"

Came the irritated voice of Mycroft Holmes as he paced back and forth, looking quite frustrated indeed, in Caramel's temporary living quarters among other horses.

Said horse looked up from the bucket of water he was emptying, to watch his master walk from one end to another.

"Thinks I'm a 'Couch Dog', does he? Thinks he's so much better because he has a position of authority, one that even Anderson from Scotland Yard wouldn't dignify with his spit, while I am a 'hunter that doesn't hunt'." It didn't seem possible but his enraged scowl deepened even more. "I should have told him what I do… did back in England!" He quickly corrected himself. "See how he reacts to being placed against a human able to accomplish feats worthy of gods!" Mycroft was in a stride now, moving his hands to accompany his angry rant. "Training cranky murderers and mischievous former thieves, is nothing compared to nearly everything I do on a daily basis; from preventing international catastrophes to making sure my little brother doesn't kill himself with his reckless experiments!"

The chestnut horse still offered no comment, opting instead to chew on some of the dry grass on the floor.

"I'll pop that swollen ego of his, I swear I will!" He promised through gritted teeth. "Mark my words Caramel, I'll make him eat those words!"

The mount looked up at him, a bead of grass sticking out of his mouth as he snorted.

'While the idea itself sounds appealing,' the horse spoke, thanks to the powers of Mycroft's Mind Palace, in a similar way Sherlock's skull does, when there is no one intelligent around to consult with. 'That is not the real reason you're so angry.'

"What are you talking about?" Mycroft glared over his shoulder. "He insulted me, of course that's why I'm angry!"

'Denial doesn't suit you, Mycroft.' Caramel snorted, dipping his proud head in a water bucket prepared for him by the stable boy.

"That is precisely why I'm not in denial, you oaf!" The elder Holmes countered, his voice sharp as a knife.

'I believe that's exactly what a person in denial would say.'

"What a brilliant deduction." Mycroft grumbled rolling his eyes. "Become Westeros's first consulting detective, why don't you?" He snapped. "If Sherlock is anything to go by, you'll earn a fortune pointing out the absolute obvious to everyone's sheer amazement."

'Now you're just being rude.' Caramel whined, showing his yellow teeth. 'And rather obviously changing the topic!'

"I'm both angry and frustrated." The former shadow behind the British Government grumbled. "I believe I'm perfectly justified in having my foul mood."

'Justified? How so?' The horse clicked its tongue. 'You don't even know why you're so angry in the first place.'

"Alright then, Mr. Omniscient-and-never-wrong Horse." Mycroft threw his hands in the air in exasperation. "Please enlighten me as to the cause of my enormous irritation."

'Well…since you asked so nicely.'

"Do. Not. Test me, Caramel."

'…as you wish, Master.' The horse huffed, his breath causing a few pieces of shredded grass to hit the fox-haired Holmes square in the face. 'Now, as I was saying, the reason you are so angry is not because of something he did to you, like you seem determinate to believe, but because of something he did to someone else.'

Quickly realizing where this conversation was heading, Mycroft groaned loudly.

"Don't go there, Caramel." He warned while rubbing his face with his right hand.

But the horse, or rather the voice his Mind Palace gifted the stallion with, didn't stop.

'You're angry that he was actually stupid enough to stand up to you, instead of covering at your feet like everyone did back in England.' The horse then looked him straight in the eye. 'Despite all your efforts he still accomplished what he wanted, making you feel powerless for the first time in forever.'

Still rubbing his face the elder Holmes only offered an angry grunt in response.

'It also doesn't help that Jon reminds you of your little brother.'

"That's enough.'' The older Holmes said in a warning tone.

'Therefore your brotherly feelings have been transferred to him.'

"I said enough, Caramel!" Mycroft unexpectedly bellowed, his loud commanding voice startling the three stable boys cleaning the nearby boxes. "Enough…" He added quieter this time.

'The truth hurts but what can you do?'

"Shut up, already." The elder Holmes threw a rug at his chestnut mount. "You've made your point and I heard it, now… if you excuse me." He then marched towards the stable door.

'And where are you going?'

Mycroft's head turned back to the horse with a mischievous smile on his face.

"Why, to avenge my honor of course."

'You really are a stubborn idiot, you know that Mycroft?!' The horse neighed in his direction.

"Language, Caramel!" The red haired man called back.

'That's not even a curse!'

"It is in my book, you impudent horse!"

Said animal huffed, quite irritated.

'And the word 'impudent' somehow isn't?!'

"As one very smart man once said 'Do as I say, not as I do.'"

The horse was left spluttering for a few seconds before bellowing:

'You and I both know, I'm right!' He neighed. 'I don't know who you are trying to fool, but you're not fooling anyone!'

"Even if that's true, what does it matter?" Mycroft yelled back. "Once all this nonsense is over it's not like I'll be seeing him again!"

With those words spoken the elder Holmes brother squared his shoulders, and resumed his journey towards the meeting point. Completely ignoring the baffled and quite confused faces of the unfortunate stable boys, which had the misfortune of witnessing his, rather loud and one-sided, argument with a horse.

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"I believe we should free Jon Snow from his oath to the Night Watch." Mother said from her spot in the God circle.

"Hmm?" Father blinked, pulled out of thought by his wife's voice. "Why do you think we should do that?"

The kind and caring goddess smiled.

"He reminds our Chosen One of someone very dear to him." She began softly. "Even now he is heading towards the Night Watch training grounds to fight for the right to bargain his release from previously established punishments, despite feverishly trying to convince himself that he's doing so to protect his own honor."

"Ah…" Crone nodded her head in understanding. "You believe that, if we let Jon Snow accompany our chosen champion, he won't be distracted by his worry about him, during the rest of the journey."

Mother nodded.

"Though that is the main reason why I vouch for it…there is also the problem of Mycroft Holme knowing little about the world he is expected to save." The caring goddess added. "It would be wise to set him off with a guide that has knowledge about the overall situation."

Father hummed as he thought about what was being proposed, before nodding his proud head in silent agreement.

"Very well…I see no reason why we shouldn't do as you say."

"The Lord Commander might not believe him." Stranger, who was quiet up until this point, decided to voice the concern that no one else seems to notice. "He may even view this as desertion."

"Ah…" Crone nodded, seeing her brother's point. "Well, they can always leave… during the night."

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"You came." Were the first words that reached Mycroft's ears, which weren't supplied by voice in his mind, once he finally entered the training grounds.

The place was already crowded with excited Night Watch onlookers, all of them eager to see their trainer use the skills they're perfecting in actually combat and, hopefully, knocked down a peg or two.

Naturally the team that accompanied him to this place wasn't among them, probably already engaged in whatever punishments were assigned to them.

A small fact Mycroft plans to rectify.

As he neared the small clearing where their duel was supposed to take place, he noticed that his opponent was already there, looking as if he didn't really believe Mycroft would actually show up. A fact backed up by the somewhat bewildered sentence he uttered upon noticing him.

"You actually came."

"I did." The fox-haired man nodded, coming to a stop a full meter from Denner Frostfinger, and narrowing his eyes at the man. "Where you expecting anything else?"

The black haired man frowned.

"You are no warrior." He stated, as if that alone justified his apparent disbelief.

"Yes." Mycroft agreed slowly for that was true. He hasn't been in the field in years and his skills were little more than rusty, due to his dislike for physical activity. "However, I am also no coward." He glared at the knight before him through narrowed eyes. "I don't back down from challenges."

Denner smiled at him, the arrogant bastard.

"A mentality like that might get you killed one day, kid." He said, shaking his head as if the elder Holmes was just one of his underlings challenging him to a fight he can't win. "Are you sure you want to do this? I am willing to call this all off and save you a trip to the medical center, if you get on your knees and apologize for the things you said earlier."

Mycroft's hard, unyielding glare told the man everything he needed to know.

The other man shrugged, smile still on his lips.

"Suit yourself." Denner said walking up to a nearby weapon holder and pulling out a sword, before throwing it to Mycroft's feet. A sword that was usually to the disposal of recruits that already perfected the art enough to not cut themselves with it.

The elder Holmes watched it slide on the icy floor till it hit his toes, and then looked back up at his opponent, eyebrow raised questionably.

"You think I'm going to let you gut me with those knives of yours?" Denner laughed at the perplexed look the red-haired man gave him. "No, my friend, we're fighting this duel on my rules. And that means you also have to use a sword."

Mycroft gritted his teeth as he bent over to pick the weapon up.

This will complicate things a bit, as his experience with the close-ranged weapon was limited to looking at one on a tour of the British Museum when he was five, and watching one or two 'King Arthur' movies when being a knight of the round table was Sherlock's 'Obsession of the Week'.

He weighed the thing in his hand, his mental scale comparing it to that of his new hunting knives.

Heavy… Mycroft thought with a note of disappointment. A bit too much so, for me to be able to wield it in only one hand. He sighed. So it's a two-handed sword. Perfect for people wearing armor heavy enough to take hits without receiving damage, as they leave themselves open with every attack. He frowned at his reflection in the polished blade. Not to mention all the strength it takes just to swing it around at a reasonable pace.

Mastering such a weapon takes years of practice.

Practice that Mycroft just didn't have.

Denner must have noticed his disappointment for he chuckled.

"Oh I'm sorry, are you by any chance not proficient in this type of combat?" He asked, not sounding the tiniest bit apologetic. "How unfortunate."

Mycroft send him another death glare but otherwise did nothing.

True. He thought, gripping the handle with both hands, in order to get used to the feeling of having them both tied to one place. I may lack the training you have when it comes to sword fighting…

The elder Holmes then did a few practice swings, ignoring the other man's dry chuckle at his obvious inexperience.

But perhaps… He thought, leveling the blade up to his eyes and staring deep into the eyes of his reflection. If I plan this right… I might not even need it.

"Are you done praying to your weapon?" Frostfinger said, his voice sarcastic and filled with impatience. "I don't have all day."

"Before we start," the fox-haired man said, earning a grunt in response. "I would like to put some stakes into this little duel."

Denner's eyebrow rose up.

"Oh?" He stroked his black beard. "Let's hear them then."

"If I win, I want you to release Jon Snow and his companions from the punishments they received for saving my life."

"And…" Frostfinger's sword moved around in lazy swings. "What do I get if I win?"

"I take said punishments myself, for an entire year."

Denner snorts.

"I'd rather push you off the Wall."

After taking a second to considerate, the elder Holmes brother nodded his head gravely.

"Do we have a deal then?"

The man responsible for training recruits suddenly looked deep into the other man's eyes. His own, shining in obvious disbelief that Mycroft would ever suggest taking such a risk, especially knowing that his chances of winning are meek at best.

Seeing that the steel eyes showed no signs of backing away from that offer, Denner only grinned and nodded his head.

"Indeed we do, kid."

Hearing that, Mycroft lowered his sword and mimicked a pose he once saw on a 'Star Wars' poster on his way to university.

"Then I'm ready when you are, Old Man." He taunted, hoping the insult will have the desired effect and enrage the older man into attacking first.

If you keep insisting on calling me 'kid'. He thought. 'Then I will respond in a similar fashion.'

He wasn't wrong.

"I'll show you old!" Denner yelled before rushing at his opponent at top speed, sword already prepared for a devastating swipe to the chest.

But Mycroft was only half-aware of what Frostfinger was doing, as most of his focus was concentrating on the calculations his brain was coming up with.

Allow the swipe to make contact. Hiss when the blades connect: lull into a false sense of security. Play the role of an inexperienced fighter: Make him think you're nothing against him. Look sloppy, barely keeping up: Allow his pattern to show, tire him out.

It was Frostfinger's battle cry that woke him up, literal seconds before the two blades clashed, sending waves of sharp pain up his forearms that were so strong, the planned hiss was quite genuine.

For the sake of his plan's success the older Holmes allowed his reflexes to slow down. Letting his sword bounce away in every direction after each powerful attack, and barely dodging the swings that took advantage of the large openings he left behind.

After-first-contact analysis: Swipes are methodical and precise: Increase speed to avoid serious injury. Attacks are straightforward and strong, relying on physical force rather than stamina. Conclusion: Let him strike and push you however he sees fit, but do not allow any of his attacks to strike home. This will force him to result to gradual irritation and the sporadic upgrading of techniques, eventually leading to him showing his full capabilities. Once pattern is exposed… show no mercy.

The battle went exactly like the elder Holmes predicted it would.

With every just barely avoided attack, Denner grew angrier and angrier, his annoyment at not being able to best a clearly inexperienced fighter, making him use techniques that were way above those of the surrounding recruits.

He wanted to show this arrogant stranger that he is completely out of his league, and make him wish he never opened his mouth in the first place.

Each following attack was more advanced than the last, leading the two combatants to walk circles around each other, sparks flying from the clashing metal.

The recruits watching the heated battle noticed, with no small amount of worry, that their instructor was close to blowing a fuse because of his opponent's nearly impenetrable defense.

At some point, when the other man's blade came close to actually slashing his neck open, if not for a impromptu dodge, Mycroft decided that enough is enough.

His opponent, while slashing and hacking at him at an incredible speed, didn't notice that the fox-haired man actually dropped his weapon.

To the shocked onlookers it looked as if he could actually predict the future. Dodging each and every attack as if he saw them coming, long before the man even thought of performing them himself.

With the pattern clearly mapped out in his head, Mycroft had no trouble accurately predicting the man's next moves in his head. It was child's play really.

After spotting the opening he was looking for, he prepared for his first, and last, offensive move.

When Denner was half-way through a vertical slash, the older Holmes grabbed his forearms and, after simultaneously placing himself under them, performed a judo throw he learned during his training in MI6, that launched the unfortunate instructor high into the air, and straight into the same wooden sword holder that their weapons came from not so long ago.

The students watched the scene with bewildered eyes wide as plates as their most feared instructor crashed into the equipment, crushing the wooden contraption into tiny pieces. The impact effectively knocked him out cold.

"Well…" Hearing the other man's voice made every student immediately look in his direction, as he dusted his clothes off. "I believe that would be the end of this fascinating battle."

After noticing that all the recruits were looking at him as if he just made a mountain move out of his way, the elder Holmes raised an eyebrow at them and said.

"What are you waiting for?" He shooed them away with his hand. "Go and tell Jon and his friends the exciting news."

The minute those words left his mouth, the entire group rushed towards the main compound. Each wanting to please their newfound hero and, hoping deep in their hearts, that one day he'll teach them how to perform such tricks as well.

Leaving Mycroft to shake his head, dig out the unconscious Frostfinger from under all the rubble, and take him to the medical centre nearby.

 

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"Give me a case."

"You already have one."

"Fabricated. Give me a case."

"Sherlock…"

"I don't care what you were led to believe, it's all lies! This, all of this: This supposed case, the video of him disappearing out of the blue… this is all part of some sick revenge plan my brother conjured up to make me feel guilty!"

"...do you really believe Mycroft would use such a underhanded method to teach you a lesson?"

"Yes! Yes, I do! Why does no one else see that?!"

"I...think I can tell you why."

"Then please, enlighten me then!"

"He left his umbrella."

"... what?"

"His black brolly… Anthea said the Secret Service found it occupying its usual spot next to his bed…"

"..."

"What do you think now, Sherlock?"

"..."

"... Sherlock?"

"Just give me a case, Geoff."


	9. Chapter 9

"Coming of the Ice King."

Chapter 9

"Mycroft ends up (begrudgingly) adopting four little idiots."

Mycroft was marveling at the countless amount of visible stars in the dark sky, as it was a rare sight for people living back in the rainy England, when Jon and his crew of reckless troublemakers found him.

"I see, Mr. Denner kept his word." He said as they approached, not even turning around.

"You did it." Jon stated, breathlessly in awe. "You actually beat him in a duel."

"I assume that's how you're able to be here, aren't you?" Mycroft then turned around with a small smirk. "Because he honored our deal and relieved you four from the forced chores?"

"But… Master Frostfinger is the best duelist at the Wall!" Finn stated, eyes wide. "How did you manage to beat him?!"

"I realize I might not look like a seasoned warrior…" Mycroft stated slowly. "I have more than one successful battle under my belt." He frowned. "Though I must admit this was the first physical battle I've participated in, in a long while."

"So not only are you a spy-"

"I'm not a spy."

"-but an undefeated fighter as well?!" Finn's eyes were positively glowing with excitement and hero-worship.

"I wouldn't say undefeated…" Mycroft stated slowly, wanting to tone-down his 'imagined' accomplishments in the blonde man's eyes. "I have been beaten once or twice..." The image of Sherlock twisting his arm behind his back when in the middle of a high appeared in his head and he shuddered.

"You were?" Cotter blinked. "How could someone who was able to perfectly predict his opponent's movements, ever be beaten?"

"I haven't been born already knowing how to fight, Mr. Cotter." Mycroft deadpanned. "I had to train, just like everyone else, to acquire the skills I now possess."

"See, Cotter?" Gared slapped his friend on the chest playfully. "Even you can be good at fighting if you actually focus on training instead of wasting time looking for trouble."

"Oi!" The skinny Night Watchman protested. "I don't 'go around looking for trouble'! It just happens to constantly appear in my way!"

"You keep telling yourself that, Cottah." His friend laughed. "Maybe one beautiful day it will magically come true."

"Hey!" Cotter protested, punching Gared back a bit harder than necessary. "Need I remind you that getting into trouble by fighting Finn was the first thing you did upon reaching the camp?!"

"Well at least I reconciled with the guy afterwards, while you didn't even bother to give his dagger back after you stole it!" The brown haired youth wasn't about to be beaten by the clearly smaller and weaker Night Guard, so he hit him back.

"Wait so it was you back then?!" The largest youngster suddenly pieced together, glaring at his skinny companion with obvious shock and anger shining in his eyes. "I knew you couldn't be trusted!"

It was obvious that, if no one intervened, the three would come to blows, so Mycroft reacting purely on his big brother instincts, decided to placate the situation.

"Girls, enough." He echoed a sentence John Watson usually used whenever he and Sherlock were enjoying a verbal spat, a wee bit too much. "Regardless of what happened between you four in the past, you shouldn't forsake the friendship you've managed to build since then because of it."

The fox-haired man fixated them with one of his Iceman glares before adding coldly:

"I've been led to believe we're all adults here, not just me." He narrowed his ice-blue eyes. "Start acting like it."

The youngsters had the decency to look properly chastised, heads bowed and a nervous hand reaching up to scratch behind the neck. Gared, Cotter and Finn even muttering quick apologies under their breaths.

It was amusing to see how much they looked up to him after such a short time Mycroft thought, a small smile gracing his face. Either they were quite the impressionable people, or he made quite the impression on them.

They liked him more after a few hours, than Sherlock did after an entire childhood spent together.

Not liking how this line of thought was making his chest feel tight, he turned away from the kids, the smile disappearing completely.

"Is there something you wanted?" He asked looking back at them, once his composure was regained, signature eyebrow raised questionably. "Or did you also come to enjoy the beautiful night sky?"

"Actually…" Jon, who up to this point has been quietly glaring and shaking his curly head at his companions, began looking quite sheepish. "We've been meaning to thank you for all you've done for us today."

'Thank you…' The fox-haired man repeated in his head. 'Now that is a combination of words I haven't heard in a long time.' He then blinked. 'It… actually feels… quite pleasing.'

"He's right." Gared nodded smiling. "You did save us twice in one day, Mr. Mycroft, we owe you much more than just thanks."

"Think nothing of it." He said waving it away with his hand. 'Most people I assist, don't.' Holmes added in his head. "It was within my nature to prevent the four of you from being unfairly punished."

"Still…" Finn spoke up, voice determinate. "We decided we need to pay you back for the protection you've given us."

"That is why," Cotter spoke up, carrying on where his friend finished. "We will help you get over the wall tonight."

Mycroft blinked… then blinked again.

"Excuse me…"He shook his head believing he simply heard wrong. "What?"

"That's still part of your plan, right?" Finn asked suddenly. "You didn't change your mind after all our warnings, did you?"

"I haven't rethought my choice of action, no…" Holmes tilted his head, not quite understanding what's going on. "As much as I appreciate the offer… isn't it forbidden for Night Watchmen to help ordinary civilians go beyond the Ice Wall?"

"Usually, it is." Cotter smirked mischievously, making alarm bells go off in the ginger's head. "But in our case, you shouldn't worry about us facing consequences."

'I have a bad feeling about this.'

"Just what are you playing at?" Mycroft glared at the skinny warrior through narrowed eyelids, a sickening sensation settling in his stomach as his mind began deducing their possible true intentions, and feeling more unsettled with each possibility he came up with.

"Simply thinking, nothing more." The smile on the younger man's face hasn't disappeared, in fact, it only got bigger. "It would be rather hard for Mr. Denner to punish us if we're not here anymore, right?"

If Mycroft thought the alarms in his head were loud before, they were positively hollering now.

"No…" He began sternly, hiding his face behind his hand.

"Oh come on!" Cotter looked like an excited child who just got told he's the only one who can't go inside the candy shop. "I promise we won't be bothersome! And besides," He threw Gared a suggestive look. "Some of us actually have good reasons for wanting to go beyond the Wall."

"I am not going to allow you to commit desertion because of a self-placed debt to me." Mycroft said, sharp eyes glaring at the youths from between his fingers. "You've sworn an oath to protect the world and its inhabitants from the creatures living beyond the Ice Wall, therefore I can't take you with me." He shook his proud red head. "Forgive me but this is simply not an option."

Holmes turned around then, wanting to show that the conversation is over, and even began walking away when...

"Wait!" Jon's voice made him stop. "Please… Mr. Mycroft just listen to me!"

Mycroft closed his eyes, counted to ten and then looked over his shoulder expectantly.

The curly-haired man swallowed.

"I… I have been released from my oath!"

Raising an eyebrow, the fox-haired man turned to face the group fully.

"Truly?" He sounded doubtful. "I was led to believe such oath can only be relieved by Death herself."

Jon played around with his fingers, squirming under the expecting gazes of both his friends and Mycroft himself.

"I know what I'm about to say might be hard to believe…but, please trust me on this…"

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The first chore that Jon had on the list he got from the Lord Commander, was cleaning up the Weeping Tree that grew in the forest just outside the other side of the Wall.

It was an important place for the Night Watch because that's where all of them have made their vows, promising to keep the innocent people living on the inner side of the wall safe, until their dying breath.

Sighing in his misfortune the bastard son of Eddard Stark picked up a bucket and a spare gardening shovel, then walked up to the old, withered white tree with a crying face on its trunk and almost no leaves on its branches.

Kneeling near the trunk to pick up the little-to-no leaves beneath it, the young warrior's thoughts drifted towards the new friend he met that day.

The ginger man named Mycroft.

The same man that seemed to know everything about anyone within minutes of meeting them, yet only seemed to use that knowledge to help others, from what he's seen.

He stepped in to save him and his squad when they were surrounded by angry villagers…

And even took a stand against Denner Frostfinger when the man decided to punish them for tardiness.

He was… different from everyone else the young Snow knew, and it intrigued him.

It was a shame that the fox-haired man planned to go over the wall, instead of staying and joining their cause. They could certainly use someone who can wield words as well as a master swordsman can use a sword.

"It's truly a shame that he's leaving…" A soft female voice asked, making the curly-haired man freeze. "Or that you cannot join him?"

Startled he jumped to his feet, hand reaching for his sword, eyes darting back and forth from one tree to another.

"Who's there?!" Snow called out into the empty forest. "Show yourself!"

The voice chuckled softly somewhere behind him.

"Do not fret, child of winter, I mean you no harm." It added in a motherly tone. "Turn around and you shall see me, if you so wish."

Deciding to do as he was told, Jon relaxed his stance but didn't let go of his sword handle, and then turned around.

Only to be met with the Weeping Tree sporting a kinder, more feminine, face. Bloody tears no longer spilling from its carved eyes.

For a second all he could do is stare at it speechlessly, mouth hanging agape.

Again the tree laughed, its soft voice sounding like soft bells being carried by the gentle breeze.

"I see my presentation have rendered you quite speechless, dear child." The tree spoke humorously. "Please forgive me for my choice of appearance, but I don't believe anything else would convince you I am who I say I am."

Jon swallowed, feeling his vocal cords finally working properly again.

"A-And who might that be?" He tried to sound calm and composed, but seeing the tree smile reassuringly didn't make him feel any less disturbed by all this.

"I am one of the Seven Gods of Westeros, dear boy." The tree said, calmly. "You may address me as Mother."

Jon not really sure whenever this was all real or some kind of hallucination caused by Cotter throwing some mushroom into his soup, but he wasn't going to question a literal talking tree so he simply bowed his head respectfully.

"I imagine this whole situation is quite unexpected…" Mother started, looking at him with concern.

''I'm not going to lie to you, milady..." He breathed softly, trying to calm his racing heart. "It is rather startling…"

"There is no need for you to feel threatened by me, young one." The tree smiled briefly before turning serious again. "However there is danger coming, which you have every right to fear."

"The White Walkers…" Jon whispered, his hand clenching into a fist.

"Indeed." The Goddess said gravely. "It is fortunate then that we already triggered certain events into motion that will prevent the White Walkers from destroying the world as you know it." She then smirked, the wood creaking as it moved to accommodate her facial expressions. "Such as sending that new friend of yours beyond the Wall."

Jon's ears perked up at this, body standing to attention.

"You are the reason he wants to venture to the other side?" He asked, a bit bewildered. "But… how will that help against the Walkers?"

"Mycroft has been chosen by our council to save your world." She stated formally. "The people beyond the Wall are merely a starting point to the massive army he will have to acquire against the oncoming threat."

Jon's sucked in a breath.

It didn't seem like the tree goddess was lying…

But if that was true then… Mycroft might have a bigger weight on his shoulders than even the owner of the Iron Throne did.

To be the soul savior of a world that's too busy fighting a Civil War against itself, to even realize where the real threat is coming from…

Jon though back to the way Mycroft was acting today, how calm he looked… how composed he sounded.

It seemed as if he was used to such pressure being put upon him, as he must have known why he was being directed beyond the wall in the first place…

Or he was putting on a brave face for those how will soon depend on him…

Without knowing him better, the young Snow couldn't know for sure.

He looked down sadly.

It was a pity he'll never get a chance to do so.

"That… is no quite true, young Snow." The tree spoke up again, catching his attention.

"Hm?" He blinked at the plant, clearly not understanding. "What do you mean, milady?"

"Because you are going with him." Mother smiled softly at him.

Jon instantly refused.

"What?! No I… I can't!" He argued. "I made my vows to the Wall and I am honor bound to keep them!"

"As a goddess of this realm I hereby relieve you from your duty to the Night Watch." The goddess's voice was laced with finality and no room for argument. "You are to serve a bigger purpose as guide and bodyguard of the Chosen One."

Jon was, once again, speechless.

Finding it hard to argue with a divine deity, he simply lowered his head in defeat.

"W-Why me?" He asked finally, watching the tree's reaction. "Why not Finn? Or Gared?"

"I have chosen you because you remind Mycroft Holmes of his younger brother that he left back in his home." She smiled softly. "Haven't you noticed how protective he was of you, earlier today?"

"W-What?" Now the poor man was just confused. "That's not what-he stepped in to save all of us, not just me!"

"When it came to the villagers, yes, that is true." She was still smiling encouragingly, trying to erase the youth's doubts. "But he took a stand against Denner Frostfinger mainly because he was attacking you."

Jon had nothing to say to that so he lowered his head, looking back at the previous events with a new light.

"It seems you've got yourself a protective older brother, Jon Snow." The Goddess said quietly, the face slowly disappearing from the tree trunk.

"Do not let him face this challenge alone."

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Mycroft really wished he was dreaming, the minute the young Snow started telling them his story.

Before, he still had chances of talking his way out of this forced partnership…

Now… he might as well be trying to talk water out of being liquid.

He sighed at the hopeful looks on their faces, and silently cursed the Goddess that dared to put such a loudmouthed dent in his plans.

"I really shouldn't be saying this…" They immediately caught on, already giving themselves high-fives and triumphant looks. "But I will allow you four to accompany me on my journey just to keep you from getting into more trouble with Frostfinger." He clarified, then added just to wipe those smirks off their faces: "It seems like you cause more trouble than you're worth."

But Finn was already dismissing the harsh critique.

"Nah you're just saying that to make us less excited about all this." He grinned. "Admit it, you love us already."

At that Mycroft slapped him across the head.

Hard.


End file.
